Pineapple Cheesecake

Last week I read a piece by Emiko Davies reflecting on baking memories, busy lives and using processed foods in building one amidst the other. Sound intriguing? Well it was.

She talked about her Nana’s signature dessert that she always looked forward to when visiting. We all have a dish in our recollections like that I think. One our grandmother or mother, a favourite aunt or another relative made, that we always looked forward to when we knew it would be offered. Maybe a favourite roast for a family dinner, or apple crumble when someone needs some love but something you know was made with love and offered reliably. In Emiko’s case it’s a custard and pineapple tart her grandmother was always lauded for. You can imagine the golden creamy custard with sweet pineapple encased in short buttery pastry. In fact this was made in a bought pastry case, with custard powder and canned pineapple ingeniously combined and presented to a hungry family anxious for the much loved sweet they knew she’d always present.

I’m ten years older than her but also grew up in Australia in a time of burgeoning freedom for women who’d traditionally been the cooks of the home. It was a time where society’s modernisation extended to the kitchen offering women many products that would give them shortcuts to meals and dishes that had traditionally taken hours to prepare and much skill. Little sachets mixed with a few components magically resulted in casseroles that would otherwise have taken a long list of ingredients and many hours of toil to build. Others could create desserts eliciting oooohhs and ahhs aplenty and smiles all round. This was a time where many women were starting to lead lives very different from their predecessors enjoying jobs outside the home and lives that kept them busy with activities away from housekeeping and cooking. All these little conveniences provided by processed products allowed women who either didn’t enjoy or have time for cooking to still create meals they could enjoy with the family and perhaps even make memories from.

As someone who’s mother was one of these women and my own interest in cooking emerged early I learnt to cook using a lot of these convenient recipe base products. They were actually an excellent way to learn to cook employing lots of basic kitchen skills like knife handling, organisation and cooking techniques. Born with a curious mind and palette these little helpers also inspired inquisitiveness in how such a dish could be made from scratch. What goes around comes around it seems.

As well as these convenient little meal starters cookbooks had a phase of being fast and simple to use, many of which indeed also employing processed items to build a recipe in the form of small pocket sized straight forward volumes. This family favourite started as one employing canned tomato soup for the bulk of its moisture and flavour as did this Bolognaise. Alongside curiosity my motivation to create these much-loved dishes of my childhood was driven somewhat by health concerns. In more recent times processed food has been largely demonised for it’s contribution to global health changes. In pursing these interests a number of the meals I enjoyed growing up faded into the background and from my memory.

Reading Emiko’s piece made me reflect on this. My own grandmother a very accomplished country style cook it seemed also utilised shortcuts. I tried for some time to master her apple pie (and continue to do so however the pastry alludes me) frustratingly so. It was when my father innocently and incidentally mentioned my mistake, she used tinned apple. Never would I have thought she’d reach for a can with my grandfather’s abundant orchard mere steps from the back door. This memory reminded me that processed food isn’t necessarily the devil and indeed has its place in many treasured recipes. As my wandering mind often does, I found myself reaching for one of those small pocket sized fast and easy cookbooks from the early 80’s, my earliest references and inspo. I recalled a cheesecake recipe that was my first taste of homemade cheesecake, Sara Lee New York Cheesecake you were ace but… After a wee giggle at the very retro imagery and a scan of the recipe I decided to modernise it and reached for the canned pineapple, a packet of crunchy digestives and threw in a modern twist with the addition of mascarpone to lighten things up. I hope you enjoy it and enjoy not faffing about making cookies and chopping pineapple to get to the same finish line.

Ingredients:

350 gm sweet store bought biscuits/cookies. Something on the plainer side, I’ve used digestives

2 Tb desiccated coconut

Rind of 1 lime

120 gm unsalted butter melted

250 ml thickened cream

11gm gelatine leaves

250 gm cream cheese at room temp

125 gm mascarpone

1 tsp vanilla extract or paste

125 gm caster sugar

1 tb lime juice

450 gm can crushed pineapple in syrup well drained, ¼ cup syrup reserved. This will result in ¾ c crushed pineapple.

Method:

Line the base of 20 cm springform cake tin with baking paper and spray oil on the walls of the tin.

In a food process or blender process the bickies, coconut and rind to fine crumbs. If you don’t have either device pop the biscuits in a snap lock bag, grab your rolling pin and take out the days frustrations. Tip crumbs into a bowl and pour over melted butter mixing well until the mixture resembles wet sand. Pour this into your prepared tin and press in evenly to form the crust both on the base and up the sides. I use a straight sided flat based measuring cup to do the work here creating a nice evenly flat base and sides. Pop the tin in the fridge to set.

Place gelatine leaves in a bowl of cold water to soak and soften until very soft and feels like jelly.

In a stand mixer with paddle attachment start mixing the cream cheese on medium low until it’s smooth, similar to creaming butter. While the cream cheese is mixing pour cream into a small saucepan warm cream to very warm, 55c if you’re using a digital thermometer or what feels very warm to the back of your finger and very fine bubble just emerging on the edge. Don’t let it boil. Pour it into a medium glass or ceramic bowl. Remove the gelatine leaves squeezing well and place in the warm milk stirring well until dissolved, this will happen quickly. Pour through a sieve to remove and lumps and set aside.

Returning to the mixer add the mascarpone and vanilla and increase speed to medium. Mix until very smooth, it will be starting to look well amalgamated and silky. While still mixing rain in the sugar and mix a couple minutes until smooth with no lumps. Stop mixer to scrape down sides, paddle and bottom of bowl. Resume mixing pouring in reserved pineapple juice and lime juice mix until smooth then finally while still mixing on medium pour cream and gelatine mixture in a slow stream and mix until silky smooth and lump free. Remove tin with set crust from fridge and pour mixture into crumb crust, refrigerate for at least six hours or overnight.

Chorizo, Tomato and Ricotta Dip

It’s that time of year in Australia again. The time when the tribal battles of parochial football fans supporting the two last teams standing in each of the two football codes comes to its crescendo.

I wrote about the parochialism of the period here and the history of Aussie Rules here highlighting two of the favourite foods accompanying the event over those two posts. Parochialism a characteristic born of competitiveness and origin. In thinking about this year’s football culminations, I’ve been reflecting on the food traditions we look forward to and their place in setting the scene and anchoring us to the festivities. For some families it’s party pies, other sausage rolls or maybe even hot dogs. Perhaps others love a sausage sizzle or a half time barbecue. Whatever the selection its often the same thing served every year, a dish that reliably everyone knows will be served, that they look forward to and indeed would be aghast at missing out on should the host decide to diverge from tradition and try something new. Like I’ve said many times these traditions anchor us in place and offer a sense of security in the same way comfort food does irrespective of what your idea of that is.

For many the geography of their favourite football team provides a sense of place, something this weekend’s AFL grand final will demonstrate as Sydney take on Brisbane. Fans will travel from both states to cheer on their teams in the hope of inspiring their club onto victory filling the stadium with their energy and roars of adulation. Geography is something that can also drive a sense of pride and loyalty to food itself as much as our favourite sporting team. Such is this pride and parochialism it can drive a population to protect its food creations in the way it would protect it’s borders were they also threatened. The globalisation of food and communication has created a universal appreciation of the creations of many countries. This in turn has given food lovers the world over an appreciation of tastes from corners of the world they may never have visited perhaps evoking a desire to travel to that location and indulge that love. I’m looking at you pasta and cheers to you Champagne. And that’s the other element of this, naming the foods evocative of these locations after the place in which they’ve emerged. The fervour in the battle to protect that heritage and uniqueness of these much-loved foods and beverages is akin to ones seen in campaigns to protect borders or indeed our favourite sporting teams.

The most prominent one and perhaps the fight that’s inspired a plethora of other such protectionist crusades is the ongoing one that guards the heritage of the much-loved drink champagne. It all began in 1891as a result of the Treaty of Madrid, a system established to provide legal protection of such products in the way we now know them as trademarks. The fight to protect the treasured drink that was the root of a culture of it’s own in the Champagne region of France bubbled along (see what I did there? lol) with another layer of protection in the Treaty of Versaille after world war one going on to receive official recognition in the region as one of afforded control of the product of its heritage (known as AOC) in 1936 with 70 countries globally acknowledging and recognising this int their production of sparkling wine. The foundation on which this protection is established has gone on to protect the golden bubbles noted in several prominent cases one that saw 3000 bottles destroyed in California when a sparkling wine was labelled as Champagne as recently as 2008. Likewise fashion house Yves Saint Laurent lost their branding for a perfume called Champagne and a small Swiss town, who’d historically made a still wine named after their town since 1657 conceding that right in 1999. This fierce battle has forced other European wine regions to establish their own titles for sparkling wines created in their cultures spurring similar safeguards over their own creations such as Spain’s Cava and Italy’s Prosecco. More recently items like feta and parmesan cheese have also been the subject of similar movements though so far have failed, their battles continue.

Such fervour continues in perpetuity much like the way our family traditions continue. It’s one I recognise in myself as many of you would. But I’m also a curious cook and one who loves trying something a little different sometimes and I love challenging that flavour comfort zone with something a new.

This year neither of our football teams are in the grand final. Additionally neither of the teams competing are from Victoria (that’s a whole other essay about parochialism but I digress) so we’re taking advantage of the long weekend and kicking off the camping season with a mini break in the country. Being away from the normal football viewing environment of home I’ve rethought the menu. We’ll still be watching the game with our friends but the footy food will be a little different though inspired by a few foods endemic in other food cultures. The two-hour game time requires finger food one can nibble on as the game progresses. This year we’ll enjoy a platter of grilled baguette slices with ricotta cheese, thanks Sicily, bright sweet cherry tomatoes and barbecued chorizo, way to go Iberian Peninsula. A joint project by the wonderful mediterranean region if you will, served in the Australian bush. A union of some of the world’s best food cultures served at the bottom of the world.

This is a super simple recipe/idea. There’s now real science to it, it’s just really delicious and looks lovely. Every time I serve it friends demand the recipe. It’s more of a list of instructions that any lesson in cooking. It is however a lesson in food, in keeping it simple both for the eater and your preparation.

You could absolutely serve this already prepared in the way you would a loaded bruschetta (there’s Italy again) were you wanting to serve as a finger food at a party or just as I do as a platter to keep things easy and social.

Ingredients:

1 baguette sliced

Olive oil for brushing bread

200gm or a generous ¾ c of firm ricotta.

2 Tb Greek yogurt, sour cream, crème fraiche or cream

120gm/ ¾  cup chopped cherry tomatoes. I chop them in eighths.

1 chorizo peeled and chopped. The cured variety, not the raw sausage like one that needs cooking

3 tsps olive oil

¼ tsp dried oregano

Red pepper flakes, chilli flakes or even this dried spice mix (my personal fave) or similar.

 Method:

In a bowl whip together the ricotta with the oregano, one teaspoon of the olive oil, yogurt or alternative and salt and pepper to taste set aside.

Warm a griddle pan or barbecue to medium heat and cook. Brush the baguette slices with olive oil. Cook them in the pan in batches or on the griddle area of your barbecue to make lovely lines. These are obviously attractive but also add another taste dimension. Set out on your platter. Also on the platter make a puddle with the ricotta mixture making an indentation of sorts in the middle to hold the tomato pieces.

In the same pan or on the BBQ cook chorizo until just starting to sizzle. We don’t want to render all the fat out and make the pieces dry. While the chorizo is cooking spoon the tomato into the ricotta puddle. Returning to your pan remove the cooked meat and immediately tip on top of the tomato and ricotta layers. We want the heat form the sizzly meat to draw juice and flavour out of the tomato without cooking it.

Sprinkle of the red pepper/chilli flakes over and drizzle with remaining 2 teaspoons of olive, serve immediately. Prepare for the ooooos and ahhhhhs 

Blood Orange and Haloumi Salad

Crunchy, salty, squeaky and delicious. Not the descriptor you normally hear when describing a Greek salad is it.

 A few months ago when we were in remote WA visiting our son I made a salad for a group dinner in his share house. Boy that brought back memories, a house full of young people and their comings and goings. One thing doesn’t change, hungry tummies. I’d found the recipe in a wrap up email from NY Times food. Always at opposite times of year I often see recipes for the seasons to come and save them convinced I’ll remember and follow through and cook them but as you’d expect, rarely do, such is the nature of these best intentions. This time though I was heading to the warmth of the north Australian sunshine and make it I did. A twist on Greek salad with the addition of another Hellenic ingredient, Haloumi and pasta from across the straits of the Adriatic and Ionian Seas. A true Mediterranean delight. We’ll be enjoying this one on the regular when summer comes. 

 Reading the recipe it caught my attention because of it’s unique twist on a classic dish known the world over. The type of dish we know so well we often don’t even contemplate how you could vary it. A dish that’s reliably easy, enjoyed and takes no brain power. So much so that it doesn’t even occur to you to try and change things up then you come across one like this one blending the base classic combination with some extra ingredients faithfully chosen from the original cuisine.  Evolution.

 Both Nigella and Sophie Hansen have talked about this, the delight and admiration they have seeing their creations take on new guises with new versions. A pinch of something else here, the addition of another ingredient there or pairing with a food not originally imagined, all sparked by the different tastes, and skill sets beyond the original.

 To see recipes reimagined is a delight I myself can attest to. It’s like watching your children grow in a way. The original creation that sprung from your own hands and tastes takes on new characteristics in the hands of a reader in the same way your children go out into the world taking on life’s experiences and their own self takes on new layers of characteristics here and there. From there a recipe is often handed to another with words of praise after serving perhaps at a dinner or party. The new recipient may add their own twist wrapping the dish in a new layer of taste or technique. Each time this happens a recipe evolves becoming the one of the cook who’s hands have reshaped it adding branches to the original recipe’s family tree.

 Often it’s one ingredient that sparks that creativity taking you off on a whole other tangent. The haloumi croutons in the original salad with it’s Greek flair and roots is just that ingredient that sparked this salad. Blood oranges are in season at the moment. Their mottled ruby red and orange flesh both look and taste delicious against the salty crunch of the haloumi cubes with the sweet spicy crunch of the honey roasted walnuts adding a pop of extra flavour to balance out the salty and tangy freshness of the other ingredients. Whilst she sits well next to any protein, especially pork, this one is great to have at a shared table where a vegetarian may joining you. Croutons are best made close to serving for crunch and extra leaves are always a good idea to pad out for extra comers.

Ingredients:

 100 gm walnut halves (a little more is fine if your packet is bigger.)

1 tsp fennel seeds

¼ tsp chilli flakes

¼ tsp salt flakes

1 level tb honey

10 gm butter

 3 generous handfuls of mixed leaves of your choice. Bitter greens are particularly good but whichever is your favourite will be fine

2 blood oranges peeled and filleted or sliced. Blood orange season is short, regular is fine outside the season. Cut over a bowl to catch the juice.

¼ Spanish onion finely sliced or too taste. You can always run sliced onion under cold water to temper it’s sharpness.

150 gm haloumi cut into crouton sized cubes

1 tsp honey dijon mustard or 1 tsp Dijon and ¼ tsp honey combined

3 tsp olive oil

1 tb juice from the orange carcasses

Method:

 Preheat oven to 190c and line a large oven tray.

 Combine fennel seeds, chill and salt flakes in a mortar and pestle and grind roughly. They don’t need to be finely ground just crushed up. If you don’t have one pop in a plastic bag and bang out the days frustrations with a rolling pin.

 In a small saucepan combine crushed spices, honey and butter. Warm gently over medium heat until thoroughly combined, we don’t want it too hot as it’s about ot go in the oven. Remove from heat, tip in walnuts, stir to completely coat and tip nuts out onto prepared tray. Spread out to one layer with nuts spaced apart, pop tray in the oven and cook for 8 minutes. Stir once at 4 minutes, don’t allow to burn so keep a close eye on them. Remove from oven, and cool completely. I like to lift the baking paper with nuts still on them off the tray and place it on a cool bench to speed up the cooling.

 To fillet oranges, using a paring knife, slice off top and bottom exposing flesh then slice peel and pith off top to bottom until you have a whole naked orange. Now over a bowl run the knife down along the membrane that separates each section from the outside to the centre of your first segment. Repeat on the other side of that segment, it should slip out from the whole orange. Now repeat on the next segment and all the way around releasing each segment. You’ll be left with a handful or skeleton of the orange. Gibe the is one last squeeze over the bowl you’ve been working over to extract the last of the juice, set aside.

In the bowl of juice combine it with the mustard and olive oil and whisk with a pinch of salt and good grind of black pepper to emulsify, set aside.

On a platter spread your leaves, sprinkle over sliced onion, walnuts and orange segments or slices, set aside.

In a medium pan cover the base with olive oil and warm over a medium-high heat. In the pan cook the haloumi croutons until golden brown and crisp all over. You’ll need to keep them moving the whole time. Sprinkle over assembled salad and drizzle over dressing. Enjoy!

Finnish Strawberry Cake

I read this post by my insta pal Lindsay Cameron Wilson last week all the while nodding and shouting yes, in my head at least.

We’re traversing a similar faze of life though I think I’m roughly 18 months ahead of, the empty nest faze. Ahead though I may be I don’t think I’m 18 months more evolved from my jump start, are we ever? Asking for a friend.

 I recognised so much of myself in her words, indeed she could have been writing about me. The passing of food batons and knowledge to young men launching into the world, the dreams and action versus in action.

 I chose action, or maybe it chose me.

 A friend and gifted food photographer invited me over for a play date and to generously share some skills that had alluded me. She, of the same age group and parenting stage understood, she’d made the invitation with the need to keep busy in mind after a visit from boy two and his partner. With a simple backyard lemon our subject we bonded over professional frustrations, her gently guiding me towards a skill I’d previously thought unattainable for me, her kindness creatively freeing and personally uplifting. All over a lemon with all it’s natural blemishes acquired in her short life at the end of a green branch nurturing it’s maturity to ripe.

Also, with action in mind, amongst other things, I’ve been trying to focus on reading the non-fiction books I love, collect and never seem to finish, unlike fiction. Putting the doom scrolling aside after dinner nightly and picking up whichever food focussed book of my current fancy my new intention. You’ll note the use of the word intent rather than habit, it’s a work in progress. This last week, Kitchen Sentimental by famed and loved chef Annie Smithers captured my attention. In her memoir she reflects on her lifelong love affair with food and cooking, sometimes joyful and others vexed but in conclusion she lands on one beautiful thought,

“Food is love!”

 Meanwhile in the last weeks on the family front,

 Boy one has been crossing the red ochre, mineral seamed landscape of the Kimberley, hiking and swimming in gorges and catching the coveted Barramundi all with his wonderful girl by his side. From there they’ve hiked towards and swam under water falls in Kakadu and watched the sunset over billabongs alive with birdlife and opportunistic crocodiles hoping for dinner. And at night cooking dinner together under the stars to the soundtrack of frogs, cicadas and a plethora of crtitters.

 As I mentioned in my last missive boy two has been here for a visit from his tropical north Queensland home. A special visit, unattached to Christmas or any family members birthdays he came to meet his girl on her return from a visit to her home land in northern Europe and of course to introduce her to us. He showed her his home, visiting wineries, famed bakeries in grungy bohemian streets, and fine dining overlooking the cityscape as the sun set and the lights of a capital city coloured and illuminated the view. A special evening to celebrate her birthday.

On their return from a city break we enjoyed a special family dinner to honour her birthday in the way families do. We enjoyed a meal of fresh local seafood, special wines chosen by my sommelier son and of course birthday cake.

 The cake. I’d sought prior advice from a Swedish ceramicist pal asking for birthday celebration tips. She shared with me a recipe from her Dad’s cookbook collection that looked both delicious and very achievable.

On her arrival our beautiful guest presented us with gifts from her homeland. Thoughtful and carefully chosen treasures mine a coffee mug filled with Finnish chocolate (delicious!) and a wonderful cookbook containing the cuisine of her heritage. Flicking through I noted a variation of the cake I’d planned to prepare. Surprising her with this grand tower of celebration both delighted and surprised her and apparently tasted just right.

 The day after that lovely dinner they went home to the warmth of the tropics and I, a cold windy day in a quiet home again.

 Action or inaction …

 And the one thread through it all was food. Cooking for those I love, a grand gateau for a festive occasion, a lemon as a centre point for a day of professional growth and friendship, reading about one’s love of cooking and a star lit dinner in pristine wilderness.

 Food is love indeed, the thread that draws us close, and holds us together when we’re apart.

 Finnish Strawberry Cake will remind you of a sponge cake. It is very close to one but in my opinion is a more resilient one and quite a bit easier than the often delicate hand required to create the perfect airy light sponge of our heritage. I’ve adapted this recipe from the beautiful book I was gifted while keeping it very faithful to the original. I was advised by my pal that cream is preferred over icing and that strawberries must be ripe and sweet. My husband, not known for loving cake nor cream but who is notorious for his love of strawberries went back for seconds, that makes it winner in my eyes.

Ingredients:

 4 eggs at room temperature

200 gm white sugar. Don’t be tempted to sub in caster, speaking from experience.

1 ½ tsp vanilla paste

120 gm plain flour

80 gm potato starch, available in some large supermarkets, specialty food stores & delis

2 tsp baking powder

 500 gm strawberries (2 punnets)

1 tsp strawberry jam or honey

500 ml thickened cream whipped

1 desert spoon full of icing sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste extra

 Method:

When you first have an inkling to make this cake take the eggs out of the fridge and find something else to do. This will have a threefold effect, your yearning to bake the cake will grow with the anticipation, the eggs will come to room temperature which is actually important and like when you lay out exercise gear for a morning workout before bed any waning motivation will be overcome with those now room temperature eggs staring at you on the bench.

Preheat oven to 170c fan forced. Grease and line two 18cm cake tins. A cm or so either side of 18 is fine.

In a stand mixer with whisk attachment fitted, combine eggs, sugar and vanilla and mix on medium for three minutes until every thing is thoroughly combined then increase to medium high (this is one notch on my Kitchen Aid mixer) and whisk for 7-8 minutes. While this is happening combine flour, potato starch and baking powder and mix with a balloon whisk, this combines and aerates the ingredients in the way sifting would without the faff.

When your egg mixture has tripled in volume, is a very pale cream colour and a mousse like consistency almost similar to that you’d aim for whisking egg whites for a pavlova but not as stiff it’s done. Remove bowl from stand and fold half the dry ingredients gently into the egg mix using a spatula or balloon whisk then fold in the other half. Be gentle to preserve all that air while ensuring all the flour is combined.

Divide between the two tins and bake for 30 minutes. Cakes are cooked when fine golden crust (not golden brown) is formed and a skewer comes out clean.

Allow to cool completely in the tins. I like to place the tins on a cooling rack so as not to trap heat under the tins.

When ready to decorate whip the cream, icing sugar and vanilla together set aside.

Trim tops from strawberries. Place a half of one punnet of strawberries and the jam/honey in a blender or jug with a stick blender and puree. Place one cake on the plate you wish to serve on, trim a very thin layer of the top crust of the cake off and brush with half the puree. 

Pipe a ring of cream around the edge the cake to act as a mote and fill the space with the remaining strawberries of the first punnet chopped into bite size chunks.

Place the second cake on top and repeat with the remaining strawberry puree and a ring of cream. Now coat the outside of the cake with cream in the way you would with butter cream icing. For the top choose your own adventure with the remaining punnet of strawberries to decorate with keeping them whole, chopped or a combination.

Baked Custard

I’ve had a hankering for custard this last week. You know those cravings that hit after dinner, when you passed up an offer of ice cream but still feel like something sweet. The kind of yearning that niggles like an itch for days until you scratch it.

Perhaps a little melodramatic but still, an appetite for creamy, golden, vanilla infused custard is not something to be ignored.

 Custard and I have a long relationship. My Nana was the source of my love affair with custard. Every Christmas great jugs of the stuff would adorn the table dotted with various desserts. A pot of golden syrup dumplings was always served with a puddle of golden vanilla flavoured goodness. Apple crumble was always matched with it as I do now. It’s a dessert passion that I brought home from Nana’s too though my mum wasn’t blessed with the same homespun cooking skills so store bought custard it was at home. It was a very close second, cold thick custard that could be dolloped from the carton one scoop after another in a bowl. I chose that over ice cream every time as a child over sliced ripe bananas, fresh berries or preserved peaches and of course on plum pudding at Christmas.

 When I then went on to have my own children custard re-entered my life. A baby food form was one of the boys first foods, the older of the two sometimes living off it. They always loved it and like me would choose some (store bought from a carton) for dessert, maybe it was a good way to hide the fruit. One night, like me, my then little boys had a craving for some custard after dinner and asked if we had any. We didn’t, but feeling inspired with my ever growing cooking skills I pulled out my Stephanie Alexander Cook’s Compendium, the Australian bible of cookery, and started making some home made custard. Channelling my inner Nana it came together perfectly my heart swelling with nostalgia and joy to be passing this little culinary tradition on to my boys. Well dear reader my excitement was short lived. Two cute little noses turned up at the golden yellow bowl of creamy goodness in front of them. “Hmm I don’t like this….Hmmm yuck,” was the resounding chorus. I was overcome with shock and disheartened. I continued morosely reaching for the bought variety at the supermarket, sadly bemoaning my failure at instilling a love of home-made stirred custard. Indeed Boy 2’s love was so great that upon finding a little tub of custard in his lunchbox one day in school he was heard to exclaim loudly “there’s custard in here!’ much the amusement of his teacher recognising a mum who’d runout of yoghurt that morning.

 Fast forward a number of years later and I was determined to prove them wrong. Finding this one (shared with author permission) in what was then a new book and has remained a firm favourite, I lovingly but determinedly stirred those eggs and cream until they coagulated to a thickly unctuous vanilla dessert. I chilled my creation and without telling them served it for dessert. And my friends I won the custard war!!! It’s still one of our favourite custard recipes…yes plural, we now are a family of home-made custard devotees.

 So back to my custard craving. With dreams of rivers flowing golden with silken custard I was struck with another chapter in the encyclopaedia of custard memories, baked custard. A dish my Great-Nan used to make. Inspired by some reading I’ve been doing this week about baking and all it’s ingredients I thought I’d give it a go. Unlocking the secret to why I didn’t particularly like her baked custard…too eggy… yet strangely suffering a want for it I started tinkering with some ideas and after seeing a few washed down the sink I arrived at a pudding to satisfy that craving and without too much work.

 Now to try it on the boys when they’re home next, I’d best practice lots until they’re next here…practice after all makes perfect.

 And because blueberries are especially good at the moment I whipped up a little Lemon and Vanilla Scented Blueberry compote to go alongside.

Ingredients:

 3 eggs

2 egg yolks

2 tsp vanilla paste

2 strips lemon peel 5cm long each. *Using a veg peeler peel a lemon top to bottom twice.

Pinch of salt

500ml pure cream. The runny type not the whipping type.

Nutmeg for grating on top

 Blueberry Compote:

 120 gm fresh blueberries

The lemon from the custard, remaining rind and juice.

1 Tb caster sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste.

 In a small saucepan combine all ingredients and allow to macerate for at least 15 minutes. Gently warm over low heat until the juices start to bubble then increase slightly to low-med and cook until sugar dissolved and juice slightly thickened. This will only take a few minutes so watch it carefully stirring frequently. Tip into a bowl and refrigerate.

Method - Custard:

 Preheat oven to 160c no fan this time. If your oven is fan only pre-heat to 140c. Place a glass or ceramic dish in a roasting pan. Set the kettle to boil, we’ll be using this boiled water to cook the custard later.

 In a large bowl, combine eggs and egg yolks, a large spoonful of the sugar and salt and mix with a fork breaking up the whites and combining the two well. We’re adding some sugar here to use it’s coarseness to agitate the eggs and help break them up. We want to mix them well but not aerate and froth up hence the fork and not a whisk.

 In a small saucepan combine the cream, vanilla, remaining sugar and lightly scrunched up lemon peel pieces. Stirring constantly, warm over medium-low heat. The sugar will be almost dissolved and the lite thread of steam rising up will be gently lemon and vanilla scented. We’re only warming the milk not boiling it. No bubbles on the edges even, just a light waft of steam when you swirl the pot. If you’re a geek like me that’s 70 degrees with a digital thermometer, avery handy addition to your kitchen drawer.

 Returning to the bowl of eggs, using a whisk mixing constantly, slowly pour the warm milk in a small splash at a time. Whisk lightly between splashes. After 3-4 splashes pour the rest in slowly whisking continuously with your other hand until completely combined.

 With a strainer in one hand pour the custard through into the dish you’re cooking in. Generously grate fresh nutmeg all over the surface. Place the roasting dish containing the custard dish in the oven and pour the boiling water in the roasting pan creating a bath coming halfway up the custard dish. Close the oven and increase to 170c and cook for 25 minutes. It will be firm with a very slight wobble.

 Allow to cool to at least room temp or serve cold with your favourite fruit or Blueberry Compote. 

Pea and Cheese Salad

As we got out of the car, dusk settling on the snowy landscape, faces whipped by icy winds our host reminded us to stamp our feet at the door before entering, “we don’t want to bring the snow in,” he told us. Not a consideration we were used to making. Inside we were met by joyous greetings, our coats taken and hung as we were welcomed to our friend’s home and invited to warm ourselves by the fire. The room was filled with conversation flying in all directions to the soundtrack of wind whistling through the trees outside reminding us of the day we’d just experienced on our journey to rural Michigan. A day spent watching snowstorms repeatedly engulf our small commuter aircraft at Toronto airport each one ending in a layer of anti-freeze to no avail until finally we were able to take off and continue to our destination and a visit with friends.

Earlier in that year we’d travelled to Sydney to a family wedding. On a perfect weekend of endless sunshine, a large, lovely group of friends and family celebrating love and friendship in all the ways we all hope for. It was one of those happy celebratory weekends everyone remembers for a long time and becomes a benchmark for such gatherings. The kind of weekend when strangers walk away as friends, exchanging phone numbers and addresses and promises to stay in touch (it was 1989, no socials or emails). We also on this occasion walked away with an invitation of hospitality on an already planned upcoming holiday to the United States. Thirty-five years ago this was a fairly normal and happily accepted invitation, perhaps not so much in today’s society, perhaps sadly. I don’t actually remember how we managed to squeeze in an extra week’s time in the middle of a carefully planned itinerary but glad we did.

Always intrigued by traditions, especially those with food attached, I was excited to arrive days after thanksgiving, a celebration obviously not observed in Australia. After settling into our friend’s home and having watched the sun setting on the snowy landscape outside Sharon, our hostess, proceeded to the kitchen and began directing traffic to prepare dinner. Her husband was sent to the garage to retrieve the turkey, and ham. And her daughter and I commandeered to assist in the kitchen. Curious as I am in other people’s kitchens I was instructed to cut two types of cheese into small cubes, one cheddar and one a mozzarella style. ‘Wait what the?!’ I’ve never seen anything with cheese on a thanksgiving table in any of the hallmark festive movies I’d watched. But chop I did, then was handed more ingredients with further instructions slowly building a salad I was becoming excited to eat.

Bringing everything to a heaving table everyone was called to dinner.  In the middle of the table was warmed turkey, gravy and something reminiscent of stuffing called dressing consisting of torn bread, fruit and herbs, a dish I’d never heard of though possibly one of my favourite parts of the meal. A collection of vegetable dishes was also on offer alongside the fluffiest bread rolls I’d ever eaten. But something I was most keen for was the salad in which those cheese cubes were engulfed.

It felt odd to eat a salad in the depths of winter, as snow blew sideways across the windows and a fire warmed the house. Somewhat cautiously I served myself a scoop of salad and had a small taste. Bright fresh flavours floated on my palette, with little pops of sweetness from emerald, green baby peas, dotted with sharp savoury twangs of salad onion and the perfect foil of salty cheeses with a slight bite and chew all encased in a creamy dressing of mayo and sour cream. Every time I reminisce about this salad, I can almost vividly taste it in my memory. Obviously I went back for seconds and thirds, enjoying its vegetal lightness against the richness of the gravy gilded meat and warm roast vegetables.

So many of our memories are wrapped around food and indeed food and its flavours and aromas wrap inspire our memories. This recipe perhaps has it’s own memories attached to it for the family who first served it to my family and I. For me it’s one that always takes me back to that wintery stormy night, the laughter, the many conversations flying across a table oozing hospitality from relatively new friends across the miles and the delight of a collection of new flavours and food traditions.

While this is a dish that makes a wonderful side to a plethora of main courses one of my favourites is to offer it alongside lamb, leaning into the tradition of peas and mint accompanying the rich meat. It’s also lovely with fish but as always you do you and see what delicious combinations you come up with.

Ingredients:

 2 ½ c frozen baby peas blanched** and well drained.

1 Tb Spanish onion very finely diced

60 gm sharp cheddar either crumbled into small pieces or diced into small cubes

60 gm baby bocconcini halved

2 Tb mint leaves finely chopped

2 Tb dill leaves finely chopped

25 ml mayonnaise or aioli (I use Kewpie)

15 ml sour cream

 Method:

 Whisk mayo and sour cream together with a pinch of salt and a few salt flakes, set aside. Combine all other ingredients and fold through dressing. And you’re done. It’s really that simple. You could replace the sour cream with Greek yoghurt if you want to lighten the flavour but either are delicious.

 **To blanch peas, if you’ve never done so before, bring a small-medium pot of salted water to the boil. Add peas to the boiling pot and bring back to the boil. Whilst waiting for the peas to resume boiling prepare a bowl of cold water with a few ice cubes added. As soon as the peas have resumed boiling remove from heat immediately and drain tipping the peas into the ice water. This will immediately arrest the cooking process and retain the emerald green colour.

Chrunchy Chai Cookies

A hasty farewell with my boy in the carpark of an outback airport and many things left unsaid. Gosh I miss him, maybe I’ll send him something from home.

A friend/neighbour making the sad trek home to the UK to farewell a treasured uncle. Gosh between her travels and ours I haven’t seen her for weeks. Must try and get her over for a coffee before she leaves.

A dear friend interstate with worrying health news. She feels so far away, I wish I could do something to support her. Maybe I’ll send her a care package.

Maybe I’ll make cookies. Sturdy, homely ones that stand up to travel and last in a cookie jar that I can make in a big batch and share out.

I was first introduced to the idea of sending a gift of cookies by Amy Minichello. Unexpectedly, in the mail, I received a package. Opening it curiously not knowing what was inside a smile crept across my face as the contents emerged. Chewy, chocolaty, delicious cookies were nestled inside with a sweet note of thanks for some work we’d done together. I was so touched by the gift and thrilled to tear open the package and tuck in. She published the recipe in beautiful book Recipes in the Mail if you’re looking for a reliable recipe to gift to someone special.

There’s something special about the gift of cookies or biscuits as we more commonly call them. Sturdier than a cake, they’re small treats that can take many different guises. I’m reminded of the famed story of the Anzac biscuits baked by women on home shores missing their men off at a war and desperate to reach across the ocean with a small treat from home. A small plate of cookies shared with a pal over a cuppa while highs and lows are shared or a snack grabbed by a loved one from a stocked up cookie jar, they’re often something that can be the start of a conversation or something to hold and nibble on while the ‘problems of the world’ are unpacked and re-packaged. They take little effort for big punch. Little nuggets of love and comfort as it were, butter sugar and a few little extras welded together.

When I first started this blog I kicked off with a cake. With a tender golden crumb, it was gently spiced and easily thrown together using a melt and mix technique. It remains a reader favourite with some of the highest downloads of all my recipes. When I was considering what biscuit I could create to share I was reminded of the qualities of that cake. Its simple collection of ingredients with the Chai doing the heavy lifting for character and keeping the method simple has made it a classic toolbox cake you can think of as a reliable stand by. I wanted a bicky with the same qualities, one that is impossible to walk past when it fills the cookie jar and one that elicits joy when opened in a surprise package.

So after some trial and error I have a bicky good for sending love, sharing and dunking in a cuppa while you share stories and company with a pal.

**I use this Chai mix. It’s one of an instant warm drink style where you combine it with hot milk like you would a hot chocolate mix rather than a more traditional chai for steeping. If Grounded Pleasures brand isn’t available to you one of a similar nature is available in supermarkets in the coffee and tea aisle.

Ingredients:

180 gm butter softened and cut into cubes

110 gm caster sugar

120 gm brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla paste

1 Tb honey

1 egg beaten and at room temperature

40 gm chai powder

310 gm plain flour

1 ½ tsp baking powder

¼ tsp salt flakes

Method:

In a large bowl combine chai, flour, baking powder and salt. Mix with a whisk and set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, combine the soft butter, sugars, vanilla and honey. Beginning on low-med speed mix until combined then increase to med-high until creamed and lighter in colour. You’ll need to stop a couple time to scrape down to ensure it’s thoroughly combined. No need to rush this stage, keep yourself busy tidying up while you wait, a watched mixer never mixes. Scrape down again tip in the egg. Starting on medium until combined then increase to high until completely creamed and not curdled. This is why you want the egg at room temp. If you add a cold egg at this point it won’t amalgamate completely and appear curdled.

Now add in half the combined dry ingredients and mix on low speed until just mixed, there’ll still be flour at the bottom. Add in the remaining dry ingredients and continue mixing another minute or two until mostly combine. Remove bowl from stand and finish mixing with a wooden spoon or your hands. Now the agonising part if you have a cookie craving, wrap the whole lot in cling wrap and pop in the fridge for at least two hours but preferably overnight if you can. I know, I’m sorry but it really helps the dry ingredients completely absorb the moisture and cook evenly.

When you’re ready to cook preheat oven to 180c and line two cookie sheet trays with baking paper. If you have scales measure small balls of dough to 25gm each otherwise aim for small balls sized between walnut and golf balls. Place them on the tray with a little space between them and press them down using a fork twice making a cross pattern. Pop in the oven and cook 12-15 minutes, they’re done when browned evenly and hold firmly together when nudged gently. Allow to cool briefly on the tray then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an air tight container or wrap well and send to a mate.

Croque Bloke

Bloke is a slang term for a man in the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa.

The gentle swooshing sounds of the crystalline waters of the Indian Ocean lap at my submerged feet. Not too warm nor too cold, goldilocks temperature. Toes wiggle in soft white sand, diamond sparkles glisten and dance like fireworks on water the colour of a spectrum of every shade of sapphire and emerald gemstones. A gentle breeze moves my hair and brushes my face. Around me the sounds of my son and his partner chattering with my husband, a dog barks at his owner asking for one more throw of the ball and kids excitedly run to the ice cream van. Whales play and breech near the horizon, turtles were here earlier popping their heads up and dolphins cruise by in the distance. The desert at my back the sun warming my face. I close my eyes and inhale a few moments of perfection.

I can see now why my son and his girl stopped here on their ‘big lap’ of our island home. It’s a place that does stop you in your tracks. The gulf a winter home to marine mammals from around the globe who somehow find their way back to the sanctuary of Australia’s most westerly point where nature has created a rich diverse and safe haven for their winter rest. Much like many travellers, like my boy.

Reaching the bottom of the plane’s stairway after landing couldn’t come fast enough knowing he was in the terminal waiting for us. It’s always a gift and precious spending time with our kids especially now they’re adults. The joy and pride that swells in our chests watching them chase dreams in adventure and exploration is immeasurable. It knocks me sidewise sometimes. As does the landscape we landed in. What an overwhelming week.

Aside from swimming in the Indian Ocean we soaked up some of his adventurous life. We went fishing for squid for dinner, unsuccessfully, time limited by my lack of sea sickness meds. We explored the Ningaloo reef in search of the elusive whale sharks the area is famous for and marvelled at the pristine exquisiteness of beaches blanketed in sand almost snow white and indescribably soft and caught fish for a dinner cooked for us by our wonderful, loved host.

He describes Exmouth as a place where the desert meets the sea. It’s a place where red dirt nudges up against white sand. We walked a gorge high above the coast with layers of sandstone and ochre of every colour of the desert, views sweeping in all directions as far as the eye could see and he took us to a cattle station inland. We camped near fine specimens of prime cattle and dined under the milky way with hundreds of other travellers who’d arrived from near and far for the famous burger night. The food was delicious, the setting sublime.

Finally after waking to the lowing of a mob of cattle, a delicious breakfast of the fluffiest scones I’ve ever eaten and amazing coffee ( yes all the way out there) we sadly wandered back to the airport. Tears, hugs and words of gratitude, love and pride shared we bid him and his girl goodbye.

Goodbyes with our boys are always sad. They always leave me missing them and each goodbye gets harder. Whilst I’m extremely grateful for the time we had together and our lad’s wonderful itinerary he’d planned for us this goodbye felt a little bit harder. They head off soon for the next part of their adventure. Travelling north and deep into the Kimberley towards the top end, they’ll see and experience even more wonderful sites and experiences. I’m even a little bit envious but will miss them and anxiously await each call and update until they return to some level of civilisation.

They’ll be fine though, he’s a very capable and resilient traveller and man. He’s also very adaptable and a wonderful cook. When I returned home to freezing Melbourne (literally freezing with sub-zero temps every night since returning) aside from needing to stay warm I also had a yearning for comfort food. Something that reminded me of my boys and that I think they’d enjoy. Hearty and delicious and easy to whip up. A toasty with some extra love from a Mumma’s heart.

An Aussie take on the French classic of a Croque Monsieur with far more ease and much quicker to the plate of a hungry bloke and his companion.

Below are instructions for one sandwich, scale up as required.

Ingredients:

2 slices of sourdough or your favourite bread. If you’re using fluffy sandwich loaf bread day old or more is best.

1 tsp Dijon mustard (I use this one, it’s insanely delicious)

2 slices good quality thinly sliced ham

Butter for spreading

1 spring onion/scallion. Green part only thinly sliced

Flavourful cheese for melting. I’ve used a mixture of bits from the fridge which this is perfect for. You need enough for two layers of cheese which is another reason it’s perfect for using bits up. I’ve used Irish cheddar and Gruyere.

1 egg

1 Tb cream, sour cream or milk. I prefer sour cream, but you do you.

Olive oil for frying

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c.

In a bowl wide enough for the bread, beat the egg and cream/milk together with a generous grind of black pepper, set aside.

Butter both sides of both slices of bread. On one slice spread the mustard then place a layer of cheese. Top with ham, sprinkle the spring onion over and top with another layer of cheese. Place remaining buttered slice of bread on top. Carefully holding everything together, place the sandwich in the bowl containing the egg mixture and gently press to help it absorb the moisture. Gently and carefully turn the sandwich over to soak up remaining moisture on the other side. Both sides should be well soaked, it helps to leave it to sit for a few moments while you heat the pan giving the sandwich another gentle press to make sure as much egg mix is absorbed as possible.

Place a medium heavy based pan (non-stick if you have one and oven proof. Most handles can withstand a brief period in the oven) over a medium heat with a generous drizzle of olive oil. Once heated reduce heat to low-medium, swirl the oil around to coat the pan. Return the pan to the hob and place the sandwich in the centre of the pan. Cook until the bottom layer of cheese is melty and the bread browned and toasty like French toast would be. Carefully place an egg flip utensil under and your fingers on top and gently turn over keeping everything in place. Cook similarly on second side until golden brown and cheese starting to melty.

 Remove pan from heat and place it in the preheated oven for 3-5 minutes to finish off the cheese in the centre while you potter around tidying up. Remove pan from the oven being very careful and remembering to wrap the handle in a potholder or tea towel. Serve immediately but eat carefully as it’s hot and delicious in the centre.

Old Fashioned Winter Porridge

Last week we happily hosted dear friends from Western Australia in what’s been some of the coldest weather Victoria has endured in many years. It was such a joy to have them with us for the week, tripping around and hanging out together. I love having people visit us for extended stays like this, relaxing together and catching up properly recounting old memories and catching up on life and kids. We met these friends in our Darwin years their friendship treasured and their support like that of family. A few years older than me she was like a big sister to me a few years ahead of me in life stages and he my husband’s fishing buddy and dear mate. Adult friendships, especially ones forged in such circumstances have their own unique qualities and longevity, or maybe that’s just me, either way their company is always relished with gratitude and joy. We wandered through forests (he’s a forester) dined on delicious food (obviously) and of course I cooked for them.

Amidst all that I also had a shoot for a favourite client, creating images for her delicious Sicilian family recipes.

So this week has been a quiet one. Editing and delivering last week’s shoot, hiding from the polar blast engulfing most of Australia and excitedly getting organised for a holiday. Yes!  A holiday. I’m super excited, we’re off to visit our son in remote WA where the desert meets the Indian Ocean. He has big plans to chase adventures looking for whale sharks, catching beautiful fish for dinner and walking in the red dirt and white sands of the west. I’m insanely excited to see he and his partner and the adventurous life they enjoy there. I’m also excited for my skin to be warmed by sunshine and not chilled by arctic air.

Until then the only thing encouraging me to pull the covers back in the morning and let the morning’s cool hit my skin is the promise of a breakfast that warms from within. Obvious though it seems I’m often asked how I make my porridge. Myself included in the past I think we all fall under the spell of portioned ingredients offering the promise of easy preparation. Sachets of instant porridge were my go-to for a long time. I don’t remember the moment I changed to whole oats though suspect it was something to do with a craving and almost empty larder. As a lover of baking there’s often rolled oats in the pantry and so my method of making porridge evolved. My tummy rumbles easily so a little tweak with the addition of chia usually keeps this at bay with the added benefits of all the goodness packed into those tiny little seeds. To top it off for a little lushness I often have a fruit compote in the fridge. This one is a long-time favourite but nothing goes past a classic apple compote. Today’s one is inspired by an idea from Emelia Jackson’s glorious baking book and her apple pie cake where she bakes apples in between the cake batter. While preparing her batter she leaves the apple to macerate in sugar and spice. The first time I did this I noticed the delicious syrup that developed while the ingredients sat awaiting their moment in the recipe. It occurred to me this would be an interesting way to make a compote. So with a few tweaks this is my new method, leaving the ingredients to do the work for a few minutes while I tidy up then a bit of time on the stove to finish the job. In the fridge and boom the perfect topping for porridge or yoghurt.

So I leave you with my favourite breakfast to stay warm as the next wave of weather sweeps toward us while I take a little break with the family next week. I’ll be back after my red dirt adventure to greet August and report back.

Stay Warm!

The porridge recipe serves one, scale up as required.

Apple Compote:

2 Large apples peeled and thinly sliced. Cooking apples like Granny Smith work well though I love Cosmic Crisp if they’re available in your area.

1 ½ Tb brown sugar

2 tsp white sugar

¾ tsp cinnamon

1 ½ tsp vanilla paste

1 tb water

Combine all ingredients, giving them a good stir, in a small saucepan except the water while you tidy up, make a cuppa, have a scroll, whatever keeps you busy for at least 15 minutes but up to 30 minutes while the sugars and juices from the apple find each other and do their thing.

Add the Tb of water and set the pot over a medium heat stirring frequently and keeping an eye on things while the sugar dissolves. Reduce heat to low and simmer until apple is just tender but not soft/mashable. We want to retain a little bite but not let it get mushy, it will keep softening in it’s own heat while it cools. It’s a recipe that requires your attention for it’s short cooking time, think of it as cooking mindfulness or meditation…..or a chance to stay warm near a stove.

When softened removed from heat, tip into a sealable tub and allow to cool before covering and popping in the fridge. It will last a week in the fridge awaiting you in the morning for an easy breaky zhoosh up.

Porridge:

¼ c rolled oats. Avoid using quick oats, they won’t keep you full and have been more processed than rolled losing some of their benefits.

2 tsps chia seeds

2/3 c of your preferred milk. Alt milks are fine, I use Almond.

½ cup cold water

1 tsp vanilla paste or extract

¼ tsp of cinnamon

Scant pinch of salt (fine not flakes in this instance)

Combine all ingredients in a small saucepan and stir to combine thoroughly. Place pot over a medium heat stirring occasionally to continue to combine the ingredients. Once bubbles appear around the edges, 2-3 minutes, reduce heat to medium-low and allow to simmer while you make your morning coffee and grab your apple from the fridge, around 8 minutes. You need to keep an eye on things to prevent it from sticking and or drying out giving the mixture a stir scraping the sides a few times and reduce to low if necessary.

Remove from heat once oats are tender and chia cooked. Pour into a bowl, top with apple compote, a sprinkle of your favourite nuts, a drizzle of honey or maple syrup and a dollop of Greek yoghurt.

**Berries are also delicious sprinkle on while hot allowing them to soften in the porridge’s heat. I also love slices of banana.

Cauliflower and Fennel Soup

As the bowl was placed in front of me I was both curious and cautious. The room was full of happy relaxed diners, laughter rang through the air, logs burning in the old wrought hearth warmed the space as I responded to questions of what was on the menu. I didn’t know the answer. To the bemusement of all my friends I’d allowed our hosts to decide and allowed myself to relax and enjoy my 30th birthday.

Set in rainforested hills in the eastern ranges the gorgeous old homestead and outer buildings emerged through the ancient tree ferned garden below the canopy of giant snow gums. Many of us, young parents, away for a weekend sans children had been looking forward to our little mini break to celebrate my birthday not the least of whom me. I’d considered a number of options for my celebration but settled on the homestead tucked away in the forest with windows that framed the lush landscape, comfy beds and lovely hosts who offered to cook dinner for us all. Uncharacteristically for me and after several calls from our hosts I’d relinquished the menu to their experience and skilled hands asking just for a meal to warm everyone up. You see I’m a July baby and knew our night away in the hills would be chilled by the soft filter of rolling mists through the densely forested landscape.

As a busy young mum of a toddler the days leading up to the event were, as always, busy. It wasn’t, however, as busy as it would have been had we self-catered thankfully, which left me time to cook…of course. Grateful for everyone’s efforts in making the effort and journey to our little mid-winter escape I decided to make small gifts of thanks to leave for them on their pillows for a midnight snack. We arrived first, settled in and took a walk to reacquaint ourselves with the setting. Popping in and out of everyone’s rooms I left little bags of my homemade white chocolate truffles in their rooms and settled in to await everyone’s arrival.

Amongst the old turn of the century buildings was an old church that acted as common area and lounge. Together we all relaxed after arriving and settled in enjoying some nibbles and bubbles.

As the fog rolled in and the sun set we all walked over to the main house no one more excited than me to be cooked for. I love winter food and surprisingly was looking forward to the surprise of a menu in which I’d had no input…most unlike me. Still rubbing my hands together to try and warm them a bowl of soup, steam curling up off the surface was a welcome offering. Inhaling the aroma rising up I couldn’t quite place the ingredients. Mostly a creamy coloured concoction it smelt delicious and appeared thick and hearty. Bringing a full spoon to my lips it was a strange feeling not knowing what I was about to eat. It seemed perhaps everyone felt the same as a hush settled over the room and we all took our first taste. Murmurs of approval replaced the hush as everyone started discussing the first course also trying to place the delicious flavours until one friend, a country girl, suggested perhaps cauliflower. Not an ingredient widely embraced 20, ahem, plus years ago. Some weren’t sure, others confirmed yes it was indeed cauli and indeed our chef confirmed Cauliflower and Parmesan soup.

Like many dining experiences it opened my eyes to new flavours. It taught me about embracing and making the most of what the season offers and to be creative with those ingredients.

I’ve made a soup similar to that one many times. It always makes me smile in the way sensory memories do. But more recently, in my lifelong journey with ingredients and flavour, I’ve become enamoured with fennel. It’s super versatile, cheap and uniquely flavourful. There’s loads of ways to cook and enjoy fennel but one I’m particularly loving is in soup. Bringing this new love together with winter cauliflower and the lessons learned that night in the verdant misty hills of eastern Victoria I can now warm cold hands, on Cauliflower and Fennel Soup.

Ingredients:

1 Tb olive oil

1 small onion roughly chopped

300gm/1 small fennel or half a large one trimmed of green stalks and base and roughly chopped

500gm roughly chopped cauliflower into pieces the size of cherry tomatoes or big strawberries

I garlic clove chopped

1 tsp nutmeg freshly grated if possible

30 gm butter

1 litre chicken or vegetable stock.

In a large heavy based pot, such as a cast iron one if you have one, heat the olive oil over low heat. Add the fennel and onion and cook gently for five minutes. When softened and starting to turn opaque add the cauli, garlic, nutmeg and butter and again cook gently five minutes stirring a few times to keep things moving and prevent anything from browning. Increase heat to medium, pour in the stock and bring to the boil. Once boiling reduce heat back down to low and simmer for 30-40 minutes until the vegetables are able to be mashed by a fork. Turn heat off and allow it too cool slightly for 10-15 minutes. Transfer to a blender or food processor and briefly whizz until smooth (as pictured)**. Season with salt and pepper return to wiped out pot and gently warm to serve.

** you can also use a stick blender for this step if that’s what you have.

You might also like to stir in something a little cream to make it even richer, sour cream is particularly good.

Three Cheese Scones

Seven years ago we renovated our kitchen. My original plan was to refurbish the existing, serviceable footprint with a few tweaks. A recurring oven fault and tight squeeze around the dinner table were the tipping points, a third thermostat in 8 years on a supposedly high-quality oven will do that. While waving my arms around sharing my vision with my co-chair of Frawley Inc I noticed his distraction and, as you can probably imagine, asked if he was listening. Then he shared his vision. A far bigger project. One involving the deletion of a wall and moving of the whole kitchen to the room behind the wall.

The room in question was an under used home theatre style room we’d inherited on purchasing the home. It all seemed a bit fabulous and exciting when we bought the house, the notion of a fancy home theatre room, but in reality in the space it inhabited with young kids it just never worked. Consequently, it sat largely unused taking up space, a great source of frustration but a puzzle I didn’t know what to do with. Relinquishing the space he imagined as a haven, my husband made his own suggestion expanding the existing kitchen to be an enlarged dining and relaxation space and pushing the kitchen into the ‘home theatre’ area. In doing this we were able to deal with a pesky aspect of a staircase encroaching into the room and hide it in a butler’s pantry and most importantly take advantage of the natural light from a floor to ceiling window. With stars in my eyes imagining my new food and cooking temple I was laser focussed on appliances, benches, storage and design. It felt like my own taj mahal story, boy builds temple of love for girl, minus the tomb factor of course… a stretch? Not for this starry-eyed cook, I was on board and so the ‘project’ began.

It was a largely hurdle free project, presenting few hiccups and coming together as we imagined. My beautiful Falcon oven, engineered stone bench, stone sink and walk in pantry. She was a thing of beauty. I felt inspired and on completion stood at my bench like a queen presiding over my kingdom. After unpacking and restoring the space to a liveable workable hub for the family, my cooking life returned to normal. The flow of the day beginning and ending in our sparkling new white kitchen my routine and life revolved around the new room. I’d gained room to move and create, store my ever-growing collection of cooking paraphernalia and host friends and family. What I didn’t anticipate amidst our winter build was the warmth and light. Facing the optimal southern hemisphere northern aspect our kitchen became an area flooded with gorgeous all-encompassing sunshine fuelled light. Shadows danced across the floor and bench gamboling like an aurora, starburst patterns peaked through the trees adorning the corners of the windows and warmth flooded the room. We embarked on our renovation in winter. Obsessed with all that would come in my new kitchen dreaming only of the food and joy it would bring I never thought of the architectural aspect in any great detail apart from the obvious internal aspects. But on that first morning alone in my glorious light filled hearth of home, coffee in hand, cookbooks spread before me I was struck by my warm back. Bathed in winter sunshine, gorgeous crystal light and birdsong I was filled with joy. He was right (don’t tell him I said that), it was the perfect idea.

Born of a wonderful idea my kitchen has become home to many of my ideas. The birthplace of inspiration for all manner of creations some triumphs, some mainstays and some unmentionable ‘lessons’ committed to the ranks of ‘lessons learned.’ Thankfully the renovation was not a lesson learned but rather a triumph and has created a place for all to gather.

As a family we’ve gathered at the end of our days to debrief while I cook dinner, or on weekends to enjoy breakfast and catch up in a more relaxed fashion. With our friends we’ve kicked off many evenings in our kitchen enjoying a welcoming drink while we indulge in a pre-dinner nibble and of course we’ve gathered for a coffee and catch up with a morning or arvo tea snack. Three Cheese Scones seem to fit many of these occasions. Made small to enjoy with a glass of bubbly, perhaps hot with lashings of butter for a weekend breaky with eggs, after school to fill hungry bellies and soothe a day away or to split with a pal bathed in beautiful winter sunshine warming hearts, minds and bellies.

Ingredients:

450 gm (2 ½ C) self raising flour

½ tsp dry mustard

¾ tsp salt flakes

1 ½ tbs chopped fresh chives (dried is fine if that’s all you have, use 1 Tb)

90 gm cubed cold butter

75 gm grated cheddar cheese

20 gm finely grated fresh parmesan cheese

40 gm crumbled Greek feta cheese

350 ml buttermilk plus a spoonful extra to brush/glaze the scones before baking

Method:

Preheat oven to 200c and line a large baking sheet with baking paper.

In a large bowl combine dry ingredients and chives and mix using a whisk. Scatter in butter cubes and rub in until butter is well combined, some butter lumps are fine. Sprinkle in cheese and lightly toss together with your fingers tossing from the bottom to the top to evenly distribute.

Make a well in the centre and pour in the buttermilk. Using a butter knife or palette knife mix through to a shaggy dough. Tip onto bench and using your hands, gently bring any remaining dry bits together. Once combined gently press (don’t use a rolling pin just gently press with your hands) out to a rectangle roughly 24cm x 14cm cut in half forming two pieces 12x14 and place one on top of the other. Press out gently again to form a 20cm x 15cm rectangle. Now cut into 12 pieces cutting three by four pieces. Place your square scones on the tray, brush tops with remaining buttermilk and pop in the oven. Bake for 18 minutes or until golden brown on the tops.

Allow to cool five minutes while you boil the kettle, serve broken apart not cut and spread with lashings of butter.

You could make these in smaller sized scones and serves with a charcuterie platter and drinks. They’ll also be delicious with salmon and pikcles.

Pear and Blueberry Cobbler

We weren’t big dessert eaters growing up. Mum wasn’t a sweet tooth, much to Dad’s chagrin, so for her the purchase and preparation of sweets just wasn’t a priority. The occasional tub of ice cream would appear when I badgered her at the supermarket, sometimes jelly and other times a packet pudding when the urge took hold, but until I was a teen and keen cook myself no dessert.

My dad the sweet tooth would lean into tinned fruit as a substitute or when he was particularly motivated stewed fruit. I wasn’t a big fruit eater as a child so the idea of cooked fruit was a big stretch, unless of course it was wrapped in pastry or hiding under a crumble topping. Like many Australian households our cupboards were well filled with cans of preserved fruit, peaches, apricots, pears and the ubiquitous two fruits not that I’m sure what two actually constituted ‘Two Fruits.’ I never really favoured those either to be honest though Dad always said ‘eat some fruit, it’s good for you.’ So muddle through I would though not a fan of the texture and sweetness of the canned variety.

I think on reflection it’s a generational thing. My parents, both the offspring of war and great depression survivors, had been served fruit prepared like this as an economic alternative. Fresh fruit wasn’t as widely consumed or favoured, nor indeed available. Whilst in more recent history we’ve turned to fresh fruit for lunch boxes and snacks and have been able to offer a wide variety of options to our kids. They’re convenient, easily eaten and if purchased in season affordable. Perhaps this variety and availability has pulled us away from stewed and preserved fruit and our tastebuds become unfamiliar. Maybe our perceptions of fruit of this nature is almost skewed and seen as lesser in some ways.

Last year though cooked fruit and I reacquainted ourselves. Call it curiosity or a craving, I’m not really sure what drove it but I had a yearning for a poached pear. Leaning on google of course this lovely simple dish by famed David Liebowitz was my starting point. I happily enjoyed pears for days for dessert, breakfast and in between. Then this year during a shoot was lucky enough to eat these ruby jewelled delights prepared by my client and realised something. Aside from how delicious poached/stewed/cooked fruit is it’s a bit of a metaphor for how our food knowledge has grown. Previous generations would have cooked fruit in water and sugar. Too many other ingredients wouldn’t have been imagined or considered. Perhaps they’d be seen as indulgent and an unnecessary expense and quite possibly palates of a less adventurous spirit such as those of earlier generations wouldn’t have been enticed by extra flavours. I also realised I’m a similar age to that which my dad was when encouraging me to eat fruit like this. A sign of age? Possibly but probably musings for another day.

So back to that cooked fruit. As I said I’m quite partial to desserts in which fruit is wrapped or topped by something. Whilst I love making pastry, I also love a simple dish that’s moreish, comforting and most importantly easy to throw together. Years ago I was introduced to the idea of a cobbler by a friend. Whilst I’d heard of them on American tv I had no idea what they actually were. I became hooked. This is my version of one perfect for the shift of seasons from autumn to winter. Whilst blueberries have been expensive in parts of Australia recently prices are settling, however if they’re still unavailable in your area you might like to sub in your favourite berry or just leave them out and pay homage to all the gorgeous pears available.

Ingredients:

Fruit:

4 pears, peeled, cored and sliced into 8 wedges. Any variety is fine.

100 gm caster sugar

2 tsp vanilla paste

3 tsp (15ml) apple cider vinegar

200 gm blueberries

1 Tb Water

Cobbler topping:

180 gm butter, cold and cubed

Rind of 1 lemon

½ tsp ground ginger

220 gm self-raising flour

70 gm caster sugar

150 ml butter milk

1 tbs demerara or raw sugar crystals

Method:

Preheat oven to 180c and butter a suitably sized ceramic or glass baking dish. You want the fruit to cover the base in a tightly packed single’ish layer.

Place the fruit, sugar, vanilla, vinegar and water in a wide based saucepan over a low heat. Simmer gently until a syrup forms from the juices seeping out, the sugar has dissolved, the blueberries have softened and the pears are starting to soften but not cooked through, there’ll be purple streaks from the berries starting to stain the syrup. The pears will finish in the oven. Leave to cool slightly in the pot.

Now here’s the game changer. In a food processor or blender in this order place the butter cubes, lemon rind, then all the dry ingredients except the demerara sugar. Pulse 3-4 times until the butter and flour are rubbed together similarly to if you were making scones, little lumps of butter not completely rubbed in is fine. You can of course do this with your hands if you don’t have the relevant appliance. Tip this into a bowl and stir in the buttermilk gently until just combined. It will be wetter than a scone mixture almost like a too thick cake mixture or too wet scone mixture with some dry, buttery crumbs.

In your prepared dish, spread the fruit and syrup across the base. Dollop spoonful’s of cobbler mixture across the top covering the fruit as best you can but don’t worry too much about gaps, the mixture will expand and fill most of these gaps upon cooking. Sprinkle over the demerara sugar and cook for 40-45 minutes or until the top is golden brown. Allow to cool for 15 mins before serving letting the syrup temper and not be too hot to eat. Serve with your favourite creamy addition. I love cream or custard, but hubby likes ice cream, both are delicious.

Potato Pancakes

Today is my 100th edition of Food, Finds and Forays!! Cue champagne corks, poppers and fireworks. I perhaps should have written a recipe for a celebratory cocktail with froth and bubbles or a layered cake, cream oozing from the sides crowned with lavish florals atop lashings of flavoured Swiss meringue butter cream but alas the last two weeks had other plans for me.

Winter arrived like a dame on the stage, arms out swept, cape draping from her arms in grandeur singing her aria. Not an arrival like a loud rock band crashing through the stage curtain with its thunderous arrival, rather a resounding entrance that gets your attention and respect in one fell swoop making you sit up and take notice. The mornings are frosty, the nights chilled and the air icy from foggy starts. With the cold blanket that’s swept over us so too did the season’s ills.

With a winter bug nipping at my heels like a pesky puppy I was grounded last week. A bit of a phantom bug of sorts, one day laid low with an overwhelming malaise the next seemingly fine, finally I was felled with whatever it was. Thankfully not the dreaded winter bug we all dread these days. Hot on the heels of that, a quick winter camping trip on a friend’s farm. Mad perhaps but a lovely getaway none the less. Days of winter sunshine and frosty nights around the campfire was strangely just the ticket.

And now here we are, number 100! So I thought we could have a quick wander down memory lane. Two and a half years ago we started with this humble chai cake. A lovely melt and mix her golden crumb with a hint of gentle spice was both enticing and a firm favourite. Her reliable comfort makes her one of the most cooked recipes on the blog. Following on with easy theme has been some delicious easy to throw together dinners that have been popular with my boys, always simple to put together and usually provided loads of leftovers. This one pot meat, veg and pasta dish from my childhood is one of my faves, but I also love this hacked paella to stave off the craving without the faff.

There’s been a strong curry theme too with another one pot number of chicken and rice or a slow cooked lamb and carrot dish for when there’s a little more time and a wintry noodle soup.

But bakes have always had a big run. Both an easy and heirloom chocolate cake and chocky cookies of course. And because we must keep our fruit up, strawberry sheet cake and raspberry and mandarin olive oil cake.

Sooooo many delish recipes that I still love and am super proud of. It’s actually made it hard to decide how to celebrate reaching 100!!! For a person not known for necessarily lasting for 100 of anything it feels like quite the achievement, one worthy of some grand feast. Perhaps a luxurious fillet of beef with a red wine jus or dinner of Lobster with a rich butter sauce of sorts. Or maybe we should toast 100 with a fine champers and luscious cake of fine crumb, clouds of cream and sugar and fairy floss. Yeah all sounds wonderful but it wouldn’t really be in keeping with its 99 predecessors. You see I like to keep things simple fast and tasty here. So simple it is.

My mum loved potatoes. I mean really loved them. Her love of hot chippies and every other iteration of the humble spud is the stuff of legend. As a career woman who was one of the hardest working women I knew and someone who didn’t like cooking potatoes and meals based around them were often her go to. Comfort food for her after perhaps a hard day’s work and indeed an ingredient she could wield into a plethora of meals. 

A frequent recipe on our tables, one taught to her by her great grandmother was what Mum called Potato Pancakes. Somewhere between a rosti, hash brown and pancake and an homage to her German/Jewish heritage of a few generations prior, they were a family favourite. We had them as the star of the plate, but I prefer to cook them with a salad and oozy poached egg. We’ve also had them with leftover corned beef and smoked salmon amongst other things. A little more substantial than a breakfast rosti, perhaps almost a fritter, they make a delicious base for an easy light meal after a busy day.

So my hundred newsletters are bookended with simple humble recipes full of flavour and easy to put together.

Ingredients:

50 gm (1/4 c & 1Tb) of plain flour

1 tsp salt flakes

¼ tsp grated nutmeg

¼ tsp garlic powder

2 pinches ground white pepper

2 eggs

2 Tb crème fraiche or sour cream

500 gm grated peeled potato lightly squeezed of excess liquid

Oil to fry with

Method:

In a large bowl combine dry ingredients. In a medium bowl beat together eggs and crème fraiche and add to dry ingredients combining well with a whisk. Set aside.

Peel and grate potatoes and gently squeeze excess liquid from the flesh. Discard liquid and tip potato into dry ingredients. Mix well with a large spoon until completely amalgamated. It’s important to only prepare the potatoes just before you’re ready as they will discolour if left too long and more liquid will leach out making it too wet.

Heat a large pan over medium low heat covering the base with the oil. We’re not deep frying but we want the base covered with oil coming up 1-2 mm when the mixture is in the pan.

When ready, using a ¼ cup measure drop mounds of mixture into the hot oil and flatten out. Cook gently until golden brown then flip and cook the other side. It’s important to use a gentle heat  so the potato has time to cook through as well as the out side go crispy and delicious. Cook in batches so as not to over crowd the pan.

Drain on paper towel until they’re all done and serve with your favourite accompaniment.

Makes 8 fritters.

Coffee, Walnut and Ricotta Cake

Last weekend I had lunch with some young friends visiting from America. One asked me what I thought our greatest misconception about them was. It took some thought as someone who’s travelled to the states frequently and who has many American friends. I did, however, point to a significant difference between the two populations…coffee!!

We’re a patchwork of the many streams of immigration our country has enjoyed in it’s short history. The cultures who’ve called our shores home have brought with them many of the comforts of home to stave the homesickness. Thankfully the most significant influences of these facets of home has been food.

Food and all the senses it feeds really does offer us feelings of home, culture and ritual. Australian cuisine is influenced with many of these inspirations from those who’ve joined us. Without a real cuisine of our own we’ve embraced all the new flavours brought here blending them with our own produce, much of which is unique to our land and have created a mosaic cuisine of our own.

You can almost trace our migration patterns through our short history by the food influences in various localities. Victoria, where I live, has become home to many cultures across the annuls of time and consequently developed its own regionality creating a lifestyle akin to living in a four dimensional atlas. The perfect home for a food lover…and a coffee lover.

In the fifties Melbourne became home to a huge post war influx of European migration. With this wave of new citizens came all the wonderful food you can imagine. Much of which was modified to accommodate missing ingredients unavailable here hence the blending of cuisine and produce. Where modifications couldn’t be made folks would grow their own produce, small backyard urban farms springing up throughout the suburbs. Indeed, the surplus creating a conduit for migrants to share and create friendships with neighbours. Alongside this coffee created a bridge to these bonds.

We’d previously been a largely tea drinking society born of British settlement and only having instant coffee available to us but the introduction of traditionally social Europeans and their spectacular brew coffee culture here was born. The rich full flavour of coffee pervaded many our days, percolators, a take on traditional stove top coffee from far away shores, became fashionable and coffee the hot drink served in polite settings. Today with this history in the background we’re known worldwide for the quality of our coffee, our love of the brew and passion for our regular intake.

America, like us, also enjoyed waves of migration influencing their culture and cuisine. Like us some of theirs came from Europe too but perhaps some of the biggest influences came from south of the border bringing influences from central and Latin America and with it their coffee styles. This became glaringly obvious in conversation with my young friends, both from Texas. One who’s been in Australia for a while pulled out her phone to show her pal, who’s on a brief visit, a photo from an electrical goods store in Queensland. The photo showed rows of espresso machines and one filter machine. The girls shocked told me it would be the reverse ‘at home’ where the central American influences have informed a culture of filter coffee makers. Us with our Euro influences on the other hand love espresso machine brews, even at home.

As I tried to explain our obsession I recalled my own love of coffee. Flashes of memory came back to me recalling my parents drinking instant coffee, huge in the 70’s and 80’s and of course my first taste of anything that tasted of coffee. I was a small child with Mum at her mid-week ladies suburban tennis competition. A weekly event, I was always more enamoured with the lavish afternoon teas the ladies would produce than the game itself. The table would heave with fluffy pikelets, delicate ribbon sandwiches and light as air sponge cakes sandwiched with clouds of cream crowned with passionfruit icing delectably dripping down the sides…and coffee cake. I was always intrigued by what others were eating and often asked my parents if I could try what they were having. A decidedly adult flavour my mother doubted my desire when I asked for coffee cake but happily cut me a sliver. I loved it instantly like a gate way drug and gobbled up that delicious bake to the amusement and delight of all the ladies at the table.

In later years I went on to be a passionate consumer of the brew even defending my consumption to my cardiologist, him surrendering in frustration. And I never forgot that coffee cake. Like many retro flavours, I’ve noticed it making somewhat of a comeback. Let’s face it, is there ever too many ways to enjoy coffee?

This is my take on a hearty coffee cake. Not feather light like 1970’s sponge but rather sturdy and moist with the extra Italian influence of ricotta and lots of lovely coffee and caramel flavours.

Ingredients:

220 gm butter softened

90 gm caster sugar

60 gm brown sugar

3 eggs beaten

150gm ricotta broken up and mashed with a fork

1 ½ tsp vanilla paste

¼ c strong espresso

1 Tb coffee liqueur

1 Tb treacle

225 gm self-raising flour

100 gm walnuts ground

¼ tsp bicarb soda

¼ salt flakes

Method:

Preheat oven to 180 c and prepare a 20 cm spring form cake pan greasing and lining with baking paper.

Combine dry ingredients set aside.

In a stand mixer combine butter, sugars and vanilla. Using the paddle attachment beginning on low speed begin mixing until combined then increase medium to medium high to cream the two together. Cream until very pale and fluffy, scraping down a couple of times as you go. Maybe go and find a job to do while you wait, a few moments distraction  gives your mixer the extra time with the butter we often don’t give it…or maybe that’s me. You want the sugar to be starting to dissolve and a finer grain if rubbed between your fingers.

Reduce speed and add eggs in two to three batches mixing on high between each addition. It may look a little curdled after this, don’t panic. Add the ricotta and coffee shot and mix until combine. It will now look very curdled. Stop the mixer, sprinkle over your dry ingredients and mix on low speed for a minute or two to combine. Remove the bowl from the mixer and finish gently by hand with a spatula giving it only a few turns.

Dollop the mixture into the prepared pan gently smoothing over the top. It’s quite a stiff batter so try and spread as you drop spoonful’s into the pan so as not to handle it too much.

Pop in the oven baking 40 minutes or until a skewer comes out clean. Cool in tin for ten minutes before removing from tin and cooling completely on a wire rack.

Icing:

1 c icing sugar

1 Tb instant coffee granules

1 ½ Tb boiling water

25 gm soft butter

2 tsp sour cream

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and mix until completely combined and butter and cream are amalgamated with no little lumps appearing. I like to add the coffee granule whole (not dissolved) for extra pop of coffee flavour and I like to see them in the icing. If you prefer you can stir the coffee through water before adding it to the other ingredients for a more even look and mouth feel.

Spread evenly over cake and allow to set before serving….or not…it’s hard to wait. And don’t forget lashings of cream.

One Pan Sausage and Lentil Stew

I’m sitting at my desk, alternating between staring out the window at my garden and the quiet street free of passing traffic and distraction. Unentertained (is that a word?) I look down to my phone, doom scroll, play a word or two on words with friends, check socials look up again. The radio is humming away in the background with mindless chatter, maybe I should switch to music, something classical known to feed the brain and settle it into productive intellectual waves of thought and creation. Or maybe not.

How can I tell you a story about something delicious that makes you want to cook and eat it? For the first time in 98 issues of Food, Finds and Forays I’m a little stumped. My husband often says ‘I don’t know how you think of something to say every week,’ I always just shrug and think oh it’s easy…until today. Usually, at worst the way to get things flowing is to sit down and magically the words come.

It occurs to me this is almost a metaphor for how this recipe was born and indeed many others, both mine and your own.

We hear all the time from our most admired food writers about seasonality and inspiration. At the recent Sorrento Writers Festival this was a strong theme through the panel discussion titled For the Love of the Cookbook. My mind pondered this during the discussion. Do I do this? Certainly my tastes and cravings reflect this and lead my hands to feed them in such a way.  With this thought still tootling around in my head, no idea what ia was making for dinner, the sun shining Autumnal warmth and mid morning hunger rumbling (never a good away to go shopping, but still) we headed off to our local Sunday Farmers Market. It’s become quite a well known one, not in a particularly scenic setting but always hosting excellent producers many of whom have been coming for the ten years of the market’s existence.

On this occasion my husband joined me. He commented on the bustle of the crowds out enjoying the sun, he noted the familiarity of many producers and with interest of some of the new ones since last he came. I bought a bunch of my favourite leaves, cavolo nero, it’s crisp bright rich forest green leaves creased with folds from veins running higgledy piggledy through the long lush leaves proudly filling half my basket. I could feel my husband’s gaze wondering what I was planning on feeding him with a big bunch of green leaves at my fingertips. Thankfully for him opposite my favourite veg farmer was a new vendor, a beef farmer.

We chatted with the farmer and perused her offerings. It was one of those interactions that makes you fall in love with farmers markets and entices you to try their wares. No sales pitch, no slick fast talking just sharing their love of the land and their animals and hoping you’ll give their meat a try. Obviously we did, we bought some of her sausages, mince for a ragu and some steaks. I still didn’t know what I was going to make for dinner but at least I knew what the star of the show would be.

Later at home, having put my haul away I made a start on dinner. I’m not normally a huge fan of sausages but had an inkling these would be good ones so that’s where I started. I knew I also was yearning for some greens so the cavolo nero was next. Slowly an idea formed, a bit of this, a dash of that, a cup or two of something else. Not what he was expecting at dinner timenhaving seen the sausages come out, but definitely something he enjoyed. It’s delicious, it’s hearty, wholesome and most importantly seasonal.

Ingredients:

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

500gm Sausages, choose ones with some flavour rather than plain if you can.

1 small onion thinly sliced

1 large capsicum (pepper)in large chunks, any colour is fine

2 garlic clove thinly sliced

¾ tsp smoked sweet paprika

2 tsp plain flour

1 Tb tomato paste

5 sprigs thyme, leaves picked

1 ½ c beef stock

1 c canned brown lentils (keep the rest to pop in a lunch time salad)

1 large handful chopped cavolo nero, sub in your favourite green if you wish

Method:

Heat half the oil in a large heavy based pan (such as cast iron if you have it) over medium heat. Add the sausages and brown on all sides. They don’t need to be cooked through just nicely browned on the outside, remove and set aside keeping warm.

Add the remaining oil to the pan and reduce heat to low. Add the onion and capsicum and cook gently five minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook briefly until fragrant. Increase heat to medium and sprinkle over paprika and thyme leaves and cook stirring constantly, again until fragrant, a minute or two. Sprinkle flour in and stir well ensuring it’s well combined and cook off for a couple minutes keeping it moving so it doesn’t catch. Now pop tomato paste in stirring well, it will look like a big gloopy mess, don’t panic that’s fine. Pour in masala mixing constantly and let it bubble for a few moments then start slowly adding the stock stirring constantly so it’s all combined and a nice smooth sauce. Tumble in the lentils and greens, combine well. Place sausages back into the pan gently snuggling them into the sauce, reduce heat to low an loosely pop the lid almost all the way across the pan and simmer for 30 minutes. Stir a few times while it cooks to ensure it doesn’t stick to the bottom.

Serve with mashed potatoes, rice, pasta or just a simple salad and mop up the lovely sauce with crusty bread.

Chicken, Apple and Camembert Salad

I attended the Sorrento Writers Festival this last week. At the southernmost tip of Port Phillip Bay skies were overcast and grey as they often are down there the waters of the bay like glass, not a breath of wind ruffling the surface. As a young woman I spent many peaceful weekends in this quiet seaside village, walking the clifftops, daydreaming in the shadows of sandstone mansions handed down through generations, the gentle lapping of the tides my soundtrack keeping beat of my footsteps like a whooshing metronome. Whilst popular in summer months Sorrento was still a relatively tightly held area with the summer bustle relatively contained compared to other towns.

A lot has changed down there these days. Famous brand shops dot the main street. Cafes old and new pop up and an international luxury hotel chain has reimagined a beautiful old sandstone hotel with a glamourous makeover. Notably too, the Writers Festival has joined the calendar and in doing so, for one long weekend, has created a hum on Ocean Beach Road.

A smile crept across my face as I took the final turn to the hub of the village. It was a reminiscent day trip as memories washed over me. I met my husband and was married in this town so it holds a special place in my heart adding to my excitement. After finding a parking spot which took more effort than I remembered I headed to the main street for a quick walk before meeting friends for lunch. I was struck by the hum of activity and air of excitement the event generated in the town. Small groups of friends excitedly chattered about sessions they had attended rehashing the nuggets they’d learnt or with anticipation for talks to come later in the day.

After a delicious lunch at a French bistro with some equally excited pals we trundled down the hill to listen to an afternoon session titled The Art of the Cookbook. Featuring two doyennes of Australian cooking and two young stars of the food world a hush fell over the room. Literary creative and author (the best way I can think of to describe her) Jaclyn Crupi introduced Stephanie Alexander, Belinda Jeffrey and Julia Bussutil Nashimura with her warm and humble wit. Wrangling the decades of experience and anecdotes these three women brought to the panel was no mean feat but with her own skill she kicked off with questions for the women about their own cookbook colections. Different responses emerged including recollections of culls during house moves and picking through collections to optimise the content on their shelves. In exploring what did and didn’t make the cut the obvious question was posed….. “How many books do you have in your collection?” As the panellists answered, my sheepish’nish bloomed. Not counting a couple of decades of food magazines my cookbook collection alone exceeded any of those of the featured authors. I leaned to my right to share this fact with one of my companions to which she gasped. I smiled, a little bit proud of the number but pondering the thoughts explored on the topic and my friends reaction. Am I reaching a number needing a cull too. And like one of the panellists who hasn’t culled yet how on earth could I let any of them go? What if I moved one on that contained a skill or recipe I suddenly wanted to master.

I have wondered if the magazines could be the sacrificial lambs. Why do I hang onto them? Are they some kind of trophy I like to store almost like a story of my learning and loyalty to them? Or am I a food literature hoarder?

There are indeed recipes in those magazines I refer back to know by heart and hold as favourites. But do I know which issue they’re in? Or do I even remember the year in which they were published? Well actually no I don’t. I do, however, know that I first heard of Mangomisu in a summer issue of Delicious. Jamie Oliver’s Chocolate Tart, the first one I ever made, chosen for a friends getaway weekend came from Delicious too. I also made a salad that’s reached family folk lore. It’s one even my kitchen avoiding sister-in-law loves to make and share. A ‘special salad’ as it were that evokes oohs and aahs. An unconventional combo perhaps who’s flavour always explodes and prompts compliments from diners.

It's these recipes and writing we learn from most often I think. Recipes that are little nuggets that grow to be favourites that stick in your mind. Ones that evolve and are re-shaped by your own growth in tastes and skills.

As I drove away from that inspiring afternoon in Sorrento, my mind buzzing with ideas, the overcast skies were starting to dim. I felt inspired and open after the day I’d had as the long drive home in traffic stretched out before me. My mind as it does turned towards dinner, and the dishes discussed and recipes I’d recalled. That salad from a long time ago popped into mind and how I could make it my own and make it dinner, another idea was born.

Maybe I’ll hang onto that collection a bit longer.

Ingredients:

¼ c slivered almonds

2 Pink lady apples cut into 8 wedges and cored

25 gm butter

1 Tb olive oil

500 gm chicken tenderloins

Rocket/Arugula

100 gm camembert cheese cut into wedges

Dressing:

1 tb lemon juice

1 scant tb honey

3 tsp Dijon mustard

2 Tb extra virgin olive oil

3 sprigs thyme leaves picked

Salt and pepper

Method:

Combine all dressing ingredients, whisk and refrigerate.

Warm a large frypan (we’re going to use the one pan for all the steps) over medium heat and dry fry the almond slivers. Move them constantly by swirling the pan, don’t leave them, they will cook quickly and can go from golden brown to burnt before you know it. Remove from heat and tip from the pan to a cool plate to arrest cooking and allow them to cool.

Return the pan to the heat over med-low heat and add the butter. Melt until just starting to foam and add the apple wedges. Cook 3 minutes one side with out disturbing then turn and cook 2 minutes the other side again without moving. We want to caramelise the outside of the flesh, warm it through and preserve a little bite in the middle. Remove apple to a plate to cool slightly. Wipe out the pan with paper towel and return to the heat over medium heat.

Season chicken pieces with salt flakes and freshly ground black pepper. Warm oil in the pan, add chicken and cook undisturbed until well browned. Turn and cook until cooked through. They should have a little bounce in the middle to maintain moisture but obviously being chicken you want it cooked through. Remove and allow to cool slightly on a plate while you begin to assemble your salad.

On a serving platter sprinkle a bed of rocket. Dot over half the apple wedges and punctuate with the cooked chicken tenderloins. Add in the camembert wedges evenly across the salad, pop the remaining apple on here and there and sprinkle a little extra rocket over. Sprinkle over roasted almond slivers and finally to serve pour over half the dressing. Serve the remaining dressing in a jug alongside the salad for those of us who like to slather on extra flavour as you dine.

Notes;

~Chicken breast cooked then sliced will work here too, we’re just huge fans of tenderloins and they’re super economical.

~You may like to slice up your chicken to build your salad if you think that’s easier to eat especially if you’re serving this as part of shared table or buffet.

Anzac Log

Whenever we host a family function for my husband’s family we’re always met by offers of “what do you want me to bring?” Generally, whenever anyone offers this generous gesture I’m inclined to politely decline preferring to shower our guests with hospitality and an opportunity to dine together without needing to do anything. All this with one exception as established by my sons, my sister in law’s chocolate ripple cake. Though not a lover of cooking she can wield a chocolate cookie and cream and silence a table at dessert time. It’s become a tradition, one that’s unwavering.

Simple though it is, Arnotts Chocolate Ripple Biscuits sandwiched with Chantilly cream is not only a family favourite for us but a tradition known Australia wide. First introduced in the early 1930’s as a promotional recipe by the manufacturers of the biscuit (cookie) the ease with which a delicious dessert could be made elevated the recipe to an Aussie staple that’s stood the test of time and still finds it’s place on Aussie tables to today.

Food traditions hold an important place in families. They anchor us and form part of the structure of those rituals we look to for celebration and togetherness. Things like birthday cakes, or your Mum’s lasagne, the steak your dad cooks just so for family barbecues or your Nana’s scones. Every family has a tradition in which some type of dish is the centre point of the occasion and which you look forward to on receiving an invitation.

Like families, many of our special dates on the calendar also herald the enjoyment of a favourite food. All the usuals come to mind obviously, turkey at Christmas, hot cross buns at easter and even the simple old fashioned Sunday roast. But there’s a few others that come to mind, breakfast in bed for mother’s day, CWA scones at country shows and hot meat pies at the football are all food conventions that come to mind not necessarily at times of note but things we think of connected to special moments and outings.

My Nana was one to create these traditions in our family. I wonder if her food rituals were intentional to create those anchors for us or was it easy to cater for a crowd with the same recipes she knew by muscle memory? I suspect a mix of both but they’re ones we remember, reflect on and in my case replicate.

Anzac day was one such day that I’ve written of before. Every year from early childhood we’d all don our best clothes, Mum and I a dress even though it was usually cold and Dad a suit. We’d find out place near the forecourt of the Shrine of Remembrance near the poplar planted for the 46th Battalion, small flag at the ready to wave when Papa and his comrades came past with mounting excitement knowing my treasured Papa was on his way as the marching bands struck up their chorus. He never liked to stay for the ceremonies after the march proper rather he was happy to recede into the crowds and potter home. On our way home he’d offer to take us out for lunch for a ‘fish dinner.’ Not the dinner that’s immediately coming to mind as you read this rather to MacDonalds! He loved soft white fluffy bread and fish, so to Maccas we’d go. You can imagine the excitement of a little girl being taken there by her grandparents but more so because at the end of that stopover on the way home was tea and bickies at their house, and what other treat would Nana serve on that most solemn of days but an Anzac biscuit.

Still made in our family regularly and most especially at this time of year Anzacs remain a favourite. This year however it’s just the Mr and I, our boys still off on their adventure. So there’s a lot of Anzacs. Never shy of a mash up of ideas and traditions I got to thinking about food traditions and how I could use some of those bickies up.

Also not shy of tinkering or embellishing as one of my friends used to say (Hi Kate!) I wasn’t happy with straight chantilly cream and chocolate ripple biscuits. So as I’m wont to do I threw a bit of this and a bit of that in the mixer and ended with Anzac Log.

If you somehow have Anzacs leftover this year or can manage to sequester 12 cookies I can’t recommend this more. The biscuit recipe is HERE or you could of course use bought ones if time or motivation is lacking.

Ingredients:

12 Anzac biscuits

1 cup thickened cream (for whipping)

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 tsp icing sugar

100 gm cream cheese at room temp

2 Tb crème fraiche

Toasted coconut flakes

Method:

You’re making this dish on the one you’ll serve it on as it can’t be transferred so choose a rectangular or oval serving dish roughly 20-25 cm long. Make room in the fridge for this dish.

In a stand mixer combine cream, vanilla and icing sugar. Mix on medium high until just whipped to the stage of soft peaks. Add in cream cheese and crème fraiche and increase speed to medium high. Mix until completely combined and stiff enough to spread but not too stiff, we don’t want it to separate and make butter.

Take your first biscuit and spread a spoonful of cream mixture on it. Taking the next bickie, sandwich it on to the first and spread another scoop of cream on the underside. Now that you have the two they’ll stand up on the plate so you can build it from here continuing the crem and sandwich process until all the biscuits are used up. With the remaining cream mixture coat the log completely so biscuits can’t be seen through the cream. You can tidy up the plate with some damp kitchen paper towel as pictured.

Pop a few toothpicks across the top like candles on a birthday cake. Drape cling wrap lightly across the top and place in the fridge overnight. Though simple it’s not a last-minute dish.

To serve sprinkle toasted coconut across the top and serve cutting thick slices at a 45 degree angle.

Notes:

If you don’t have crème fraiche you can sub in sour cream but do make it full fat please. The light stuff is too thin.

Shredded Coconut is a good substitute for flakes if unavailable. You can toast them in a dry fry pan moving constantly until lightly golden.

Pizza Pie

Cold days outside, a brown velvet patterned couch, pillows, a blanket and snacks at the ready. I’d flick on the old television housed in a woodgrain laminate box finish, an image would appear out of the analogue snow that appeared momentarily while it warmed up and received the reception, I’d settle in snuggled up anticipation built. The weekend afternoon movie of the week starting with the introduction of movies of the era, a prelude with a usually notable theme. Black and white usually, characters would emerge as the story began. Sometimes an old war drama, a western (not my favourite but always elicited the interest of my Dad) a musical or a comedy and generally stars seemingly drawn from the same pool, the golden era of Hollywood. A, perhaps, unusual pastime for a child.

I loved these old movies and my afternoons snuggled up escaping into far off stories and locales. Wind and rain could batter the windows but, in my imagination, I was elegantly sweeping down grand winding staircases with show tunes my soundtrack or delightedly participating in some slap stick prank eliciting canned laughter. I was enamoured with Shirley Temple my own dancing toes tapping away on the couch in time with her deft moves. I was swept away with the romance of Gene Kelly spinning his dance partner around looking adoringly at her. I would giggle with mirth at Lucille Ball’s hilarious antics and laugh until my sides hurt at Jerry Lewis and his straight guy Dean Martin. Not only funny with their impeccable timing they’d launch into song on occasion too making them the perfect blend for my proclivities. Most notably in the 1953 movie The Caddy the song, perhaps more famous than the movie, was the famous song That’s Amore. It had a catchy tune, one that’s stood the test of time, that rings like an ear worm at various appropriate moments to this day. Even as a child though the one take away I gathered from that fun and romantic tune was the line that referred to pizza pie.

Whilst a fairly traditional family culinarily, meat and three veg anyone (?), we did indulge in the odd ‘exotic’ pizza. My dad’s cousin married an Italian fella who was a pizza chef and owned various restaurants around our area. With ‘mates rates’ we’d often dine in their eateries, lavished with love by them through delicious pizzas in abundance. The atmosphere would be festive, the food hearty and the hospitality warm. We developed a deep love of pizza through these happy evenings becoming astute pizza critics. I remembered asking our Italian relative a few times what pizza pie was, even trying to order one but was always met with a polite Italian shrug. Even he was a little mystified as to what exactly Mr Martin was singing about.

It's a culinary question that has stuck with me. No matter where I’ve travelled, particularly America, its one that’s stuck in the archives of my mind without an answer. Elusive and unanswered. I’ve also been challenged by the answer to a good and traditional pizza base having tried a plethora of recipes, until recently. As I flicked through the beautiful pages of yet another Italian cookbook (is there ever enough?) I was struck by the ease of the proffered pizza recipe. In my ongoing pursuit of said classic I steadied myself for yet another attempt at restaurant worthy homemade pizza. With little effort, basic ingredients and hope I’d found my go to recipe for pizza and the one I’d commit to memory for life.

But still, what the heck is pizza pie? Google elicits answers in the millions but nothing definitive. Armed though with technique skills and inspired by a now memorised pizza dough recipe I was determined to create a pizza pie as I imagined it. With a few tweaks to that wonderful dough recipe, layers of flavourful small goods, melty cheese, sauce, a few veg and some patience I built what I thought might be the dish in Mr Martin’s mind as he serenaded a sweetheart with notions of pizza pie and love. As I pulled that tray from the oven the rich aromas of pizza enveloping me a smile crept across my face. Allowing it to cool for a while before slicing into it whilst agony, an important step to allow some of that steam to rise out through the small chimney in the top layer. I felt like that young girl again the song quietly thrumming in my head “when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that’s amoré…” Both childlike anticipation and memories swirling I finally cut into the round pulling a wedge from the tray, stretchy cheese strings breaking away. One bite and my eyes gently closed a smile creeping across my face and a lifetime of wondering no more.

I’ll never know if my pizza pie is the one of Mr Martin’s imaginings but it’s definitely the one of mine and definitely one for the recipe memory.

Ingredients:

400 gm plain flour (bread flour is great if you have it but don’t rush out and buy it if you don’t)

¾ tsp/5gm dried yeast

¾ tsp salt/5gm (I use fine table salt here not flakes)

¾ tsp/3 gm sugar

300 ml lukewarm water

1-2 Tb commercial pizza sauce. Aim for a spreadable one, I’ve used passata and will at a pinch but it’s quite wet and can create a soggy base.

½ tsp dried oregano

½ an onion finely sliced

75 gm sliced ham

60 gm finely sliced salami. Choose your own adventure here, we like it hot but you do you.

75 gm chopped bacon

1 cup/100 gm grated cheese. I like a flavourful mixture with bits from the fridge or cheddar but if you prefer milder mozzarella that’s fine too.

½ a small capsicum/pepper finely diced

80gm/1 cup sliced mushrooms

1 cup baby spinach leaves

1 egg beaten with a splash of milk for glazing

Polenta for the pizza tray. If you don’t have any just used baking paper.

HOT TIP! When you first think “hmmm pizza pie” ( or any yeast baking) turn the oven light on. NOT the oven temp just the light. This elicits enough warmth alongside the ovens closed draught free environment to create the perfect dough proving environment. Now as you were…the instructions!

In a stand mixer combine all dough ingredients and mix on med-low speed until combined, you may need to scrape down a couple of times. Increase speed to medium and mix for 5 minutes while you tidy up. If you don’t have a mixer do this first in a bowl with your hands until a shaggy dough then tip out onto a bench and knead lightly until smoothish. In a large bowl using your hand spread a splash of olive oil to grease, tip dough into the bowl and loosely cover with lightly oiled cling wrap (you can gently oil the top of the dough if oiling cling wrap feels fiddly). Place bowl in the lit oven and leave to prove gently in the there for at least two hours or more than doubled in size. If your oven doesn’t have a light or the light is on the blink as they often are leave in a warm draught free spot.

When ready remove dough from its proving spot and tip onto a lightly floured bench.

Preheat oven to 220c fan forced.

Divide into two even portions and lightly knead by had to form two balls. Pop onto a tray in a warm spot to rest while you get organised. They just need 15 mins to do so. Take these few minutes to prepare your toppings.

Prepare tray with a light spread of olive oil and a sprinkling of polenta grains. You could use baking paper if you prefer but the oil and polenta creates a lovely finish on the base. Take one ball and stretch by hand gently across the width of the pizza tray or to a 30 cm circle. Spread over your pizza sauce one spoon at a time leaving a 2 cm border. You may not need all of the sauce, see how you go, then sprinkle oregano leaves. Start your meat layer next with ham then salami then sprinkle over bacon. Spread over the grated cheese evenly. Then layer vegetables starting with spinach then mushrooms and finishing with capsicum, set aside. On a floured bench stretch or roll your second dough ball to equal size. Gently pick it up and lay over the layered pizza. It should fall to the edge of the sauce where the sauce free border is. Gently fold and crimp with your finger as pictured to seal. Snip a hole in the centre to release moisture as it cooks. Brush the pie all over with egg glaze and place in the oven for 25 minutes until golden brown and crisp on the base. You can gently lift with a spatula at the edge to check the base. Return for five minutes to crisp up if needed.

Remove from oven and leave to cool for 2 minutes before cutting into it. Serve with mood music of romantic tunes of moons and amoré and perhaps a lovely glass of Italian red wine.

NOTE: you’ll notice in the photos I have the cheese on top. I’ve since changed my method to allow the moisture and steam from the veg to escape easily without the cheese layer stifling it as described above.

Spiced Apple and Rye Hand Pies

I woke to the sound of a kookaburra’s call a few mornings ago. The sentinel of his flock perhaps, a call to arms to indicate the first slivers of light appearing through the trees on the horizon. It always goes quiet after his call. It’s a long string of distinctive caws increasing in volume and energy to a final crescendo before silence falls. I imagine his fellow flock members stirring in their eucalypt branches sandy eyes blinking open winged feathers ruffling as they stretch and meet the day as he nods off from the night shift keeping watch. Is it the same Kookaburra doing this job every morning or do they take turns? Are they even so organised a species? Who knows, it’s these cerebral meanderings that float around my mind while I procrastinate from the inevitability the breaking light heralds. Probably time to ruffle my own feathers and rub the sand from my eyes.

The calls of the morning are quieter at the moment. It’s autumn and we’ve freshly switched off day light saving time. The damp cold stillness that the turn of the season towards winter brings settles over all of us. Nature its own beacon to the shift. Leaves turn all the colours of their own red, orange and gold rainbow, plants slow their growth and animals start their pre hibernation routine fattening up for the coming cold. We humans are similar in a fashion. We become drawn to foods that warm and nourish our bodies and minds. Porridge for breakfast a promise that helps draw the covers back, hot tea at morning teatime to warm from the inside out and stews and soups to comfort and nurture at the end of the day to fill bellies and fuel our bodies to keep us warm.

Not only do we look to warm hearty fair to warm us from the inside out and stoke out internal furnaces we’re also are drawn to particular flavours and their memories evoked by the season. Spices often compliment such meals the warming notes of specific extracts doing the heavy lifting. Be they in that porridge, tea, a stew or slow cook but most particularly in a bake, spices can add complexity and sensation to a dish that adds another dimension and layer to the experience. If you look through my recipe collection you’ll note it’s no secret that I adore cooking with spices. The shift in seasons and my proclivity to lean on them got me to pondering this, procrasitpondering if you will. And it occurs to me that this is not just rooted (see what I did there? Rooted? Ginger, coriander, wasabi) in my love of flavour but also the extra elements their characteristics offer to enhance a meal. Characteristics like sweet, savoury, earthiness, warmth, brightness, freshness amongst others all create a dance between themselves and other ingredients in your cooking. Much in the way music does to a song spices can create a cohesion to all the components of your culinary creations.

And so to the season. As we let go of the warmer weather and flavours like makrut lime, lemongrass, basil and mint amongst other summer flavours we turn to autumnal ones. Interestingly not only do they lend the colours of the season but flavours that settle over us with recollections and experiences whose memories come to life as the flavours erupt on our palettes. Pumpkin, maple, chestnuts, walnuts, mushrooms, apples pears and all those beautiful warming spices like ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon and the like form the foundations of many of our favourite recipes that bridge our journey from hot weather to cold.

Laying in bed listening to the silence around that Kookaburra’s call, the breeze tumbling overnight rainfall droplets from the leaves on which they’d settled knowing it was cold outside I didn’t crave fruit or salad, I craved something baked. I yearned for my home to be filled with aromas of sugar, butter and spice, the cosiness that evokes and the delicious morning tea I would pull from my oven at the end of that fragrant alchemy.

Notes:

I use a blender (vitamix) to make my pastry in this instance. You can follow the same instructions in a food processor. If you have neither or prefer to use your hands employ a traditional method of rubbing butter into the dry ingredients doing the job of the blades, make a well in the centre and add the wet ingredients and bring together with your hands again doing the work the blades would do and give a short simple knead to bring together.

Makes 12 Hands Pies

Ingredients:

125 gm cold butter in small cubes

150 gm plain flour

70 gm rye flour (you can substitute wholemeal wheat flour here if you prefer or even use plain white flour. If using plain white you may find you only need one Tb of the water).

1 scant tsp cardamon ground

20 g/1 Tb caster sugar

1 egg yolk

60 gm sour cream

1-2 Tb ice water

2 large green apples, peeled and cut into thinly sliced chunks

2 Tb brown sugar

½ tsp cinnamon

Pinch of salt extra

An extra egg for brushing pastry beaten with a splash of milk

Demerara sugar to sprinkle

Method:

In a blender or food processor (see above if you have neither) add cubed butter, flours, caster sugar, cardamon and a pinch of salt. Doing this step in this order, butter first then dry ingredients, is important as it integrates the butter and flour more efficiently and therefore reduces the time under mix and the chance of the dough becoming overworked. Pulse the machine a few times until the butter and dry ingredients are integrated in the way they would be if you’d rubbed them together with your fingers. A few lumps of butter is fine and in fact preferable. In a small bowl, beat together the egg yolk and sour cream. Add the wet mixture to the mixture in your blender/processor and pulse a few times again until the mixture has come together mostly. Tip the mixture out onto a bench and use your hands to finish bringing everything together gently. Pat down into a disc, wrap in cling wrap and pop in the fridge to rest for 30 minutes.

Prepare apples and tip into a medium sized bowl. Sprinkle over brown sugar, cinnamon and salt and stir well until sugar is completely coated. Set aside.

Preheat oven to 180c and line a large baking tray with baking paper.

Remove pastry from fridge and roll out to a thickness of 3mm. Cut rolled pastry into rounds. I’ve used a tin lid of 11.5 cms across. To assemble pies, take a round in your hand, holding like a taco shell and brush the edges with the egg wash. Spoon a heaped desert spoonful of apple into the centre and pinch the edges together to seal. It will look like an overgrown dumpling. Continue this until all rounds are stuffed. Line up on tray and brush with egg wash and sprinkle over demerara sugar. Bake for 25-30 mins.

Eat warm or cold, with cream or custard or whatever your autumnal heart desires.

Chickpea and Vegetable Pudding

I’m out of sorts today, or if I’m really honest this week. Not the cheeriest way to begin a newsletter but here we are. Allow me a moments self-indulgence and let me explain.

We, like half of the country, enjoyed a long weekend away. Camping with friends in a valley carved out by one of the loveliest rivers I’ve seen, we shared meals, we laughed, played games and relaxed. A perfect weekend really. After an early pack up on Monday we began the long drive home. Winding through beautiful green hills views down onto the sparkling waters of the gently burbling McAlister River all seemed well initially until….Until my old friend motion sickness came ‘a knocking.’ I should have known that it was an early sign of something else having not suffered from the horror of travel induced nausea for some time. I knew what the road was like so perhaps should have prepared suitably with a little medicinal help but over confidence overrode any good decision making. It was a long hour back to the highway and straight roads but a walk and light lunch from a lovely country café resulted in a settling stomach and stood me in good stead to make it home.

Tuesday dawned with a slight holiday hangover. A little hay fever snuffly from a weekend in the bush but onwards I pushed. After faffing about and heading out however I found myself post a hairdressing appointment somewhat grumpy. A miscommunication between the hairdresser and I resulted in a ‘do’ I’d not normally request my reaction surprising me. For a not particularly vane person I unexpectedly was very unsettled. Afterwards, driving to the shops on the phone to a friend, I became aware of a disturbance in my vision. A beacon to what was coming I turned around and headed home knowing I had minutes to get there before I’d be stuck on the side of the road awaiting a return to normal vision…a migraine was approaching. I should have known something was amiss on that unsettling drive home from camping.

Trouble was I had lots of adulting to do, I really hate adulting and will procrastinate until backed into a corner. Government online accounts and apps to sort out with assistance from call centres. Many hours on the phone, one operator frustratingly unhelpful after a long time on the phone, one blessedly kind and knowledgeable. Head still pounding, passwords, lists, logins, annoying haircuts…it was a day.

I awoke Wednesday determined to get on with the week proper and shake Tuesday off. Setting off for an early morning walk in the crisp autumn air I thought I was back, but alas a migraine hangover prevailed. Much like a garden variety hangover post fun night out only without the fun I could almost hear my metaphorical brakes screeching to a halt. I hauled myself to the shops and completed the week’s shopping, intended for Tuesday’s list and returned home feeling a bit rubbish. Try though I did to write and create with grand plans to wax lyrical of a lovely easter in the mountains and share something delicious with you, all I could think of was a need for comfort. A need to shed the responsibilities of adulting, to shake off that hangover and to just be. I pushed my laptop aside, went to the fridge gathered a handful of ingredients, my chopping board and knife. Crisp air outside after two days of cleansing rain and a topsy turvy few days and the only answer was soup. A simple one, gentle for an unsettled stomach, warm and comforting.

Onwards and upwards.

Ingredients:

1 Tb extra virgin olive oil

1 carrot diced

1 french shallot diced

1 garlic clove crushed

¼ c chopped parsley

¼ tsp freshly grated nutmeg (ground is fine if that’s all you have)

400 gm can chickpeas drained

1 c tinned crushed tomatoes

2 c chicken stock

1 litre water

2 handfuls of finely shredded Tuscan kale

Method:

Place a heavy based medium to large pot over medium heat and warm olive oil. When ready tip in the carrot and shallot and turn heat down to low. Cook until the shallot is translucent and carrot softening, roughly five minutes. Add garlic and nutmeg and cook for a minute longer. Tip in chickpeas, tomatoes, stock and water, stir thoroughly and increase heat to medium to bring to a gentle boil. Once bubbling reduce back to low, add kale and simmer 45-60 minutes until slightly thickened and reduced while you potter about and finish all the adulting things so you can relax with a bowl of soup at the end. Season to taste with salt and pepper, enjoy!

Serve with a crunchy toasty, a drizzle of crunchy chilli oil or perhaps some grated parmesan cheese or a sprinkle of feta.